


Into the Dark

by agaycabbage



Series: Rewrite the Stars [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaycabbage/pseuds/agaycabbage
Summary: Garrus is on Omega, heartbroken and lost. He finds a reason to live in Archangel and his crew...but he isn’t sure he actually wants to. ***This is the sequel to my ME1 fic, Rewrite the Stars. You will miss things if you don't read that one first.***Fair warning: This one gets DARK. Content warnings for suicidal ideations and attempt, drug use, drug overdose, and character death.Title and theme inspired by Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Follow You Into the Dark."Obviously it’s not canon. Still, it’s Bioware’s sandbox.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: Rewrite the Stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538497
Comments: 53
Kudos: 95





	1. Prologue - Disappear

The morning comes with nothing but regret. I tried to convince myself all night, with Orbin’s help, that ignoring Shepard’s call would eventually feel good. That I’d feel empowered by not needing her. 

Instead, I could barely manage a glance at anyone else in the bar, I got a crappy night of sleep, and I feel like shit the moment I want up. I shouldn’t have ignored her; I never wanted Shepard to think I’m not there for her, and then I failed to be. I wouldn’t have been anything mission-critical, I know, but Shepard came to me when she needed someone. 

Nothing in my life made me prouder than being that person for her. Now I’ve failed at that, too. 

I don’t have time to sit around and wallow in this, though. I wake up late and have to rush through a shower, barely enough time to grab a coffee before heading out the door without catching any news or eating breakfast. I don’t get into the elevator before my Omni-Tool rings with a call from Orbin. 

“Pup, get down to the docks!” he demands before I can say a word. 

“What? I have to get to the training center, what’s - “

“Vakarian, listen to me,” he interjects. Orbin always keeps his cool, so his panicked tone makes me anxious. “It’s...it’s the Normandy, Garrus. Something happened.” 

My heart all but stops, and I have to reach out to the metal-paneled wall of the elevator when the floor sways under my feet. There’s a moment where I can’t breathe, and though I can hear Orbin calling my name on the other end, I can’t formulate a response. 

Something happened to the Normandy. The docks. The ship is coming, and the crew needs me. 

“I’m on my way,” I tell him before ending the call just as the door whoosh open. There’s a line at rapid transit, and I know that if I stop moving, I’ll start panicking. So, I start running. Moving as fast, I dare through the crowds. 

It’s total chaos on the docks. C-Sec and the emergency response teams are in full disaster response mode, civilians are gawking for position to gawk, and several ships are dragging battered escape pods to the dock. 

Escape pods. 

The Normandy is nowhere in sight. They had to abandon the ship. 

I have to catch my breath before I can push through, grateful for my armor and a C-Sec badge to let me get through fairly quickly. The C-Sec guys recognize me, and I’m waved through, Orbin coming to my side just before Pallin does. 

“Garrus, I...I’m not sure you should be here.” 

I’ve known the C-Sec Executor my entire life. He served and is friends with my father, he’s had dinner with my family, one of my nephews is named after him. And the man has not called me by my first name since the day I became a man at fifteen. My blood runs cold at the sound. 

“They’re my crew. I have to be here.” 

I can’t even look at him. The pity in the subtones and eyes terrifies me; I don’t want to know what he knows. Not yet. Not ever, if it’s…

I shake my head. I can’t go there, not if my team needs me. 

The first pod reaches the dock and releases some of the crew; I feel more relief than I ever thought I would at the sight of Kaidan Alenko in one piece, but I aim for Liara and Dr. Chakwas. They’re all visibly shaken, the doctor bleeding from a gash on her arm that someone tied a shirt around. 

“Oh, Garrus,” Liara practically moans, swaying on her feet. Nearby, Alenko shoves a C-Sec officer away just in time to throw up all over the floor. 

They’ve been through hell, and I nearly join Alenko in heaving. 

“Garrus, it was...it’s not…” Chakwas shakes her head, her face nearly as gray as her hair. I’ve never seen the collected, matronly doctor at a loss for words. I refuse to meet her eyes when I see exactly the same expression on her as I did on Pallin. 

Why are they pitying me? Where is she?

The second pod has most of the support crew and engineers. I hear someone say that Pressly is gone before they break off in wails. Pressly. The Normandy. What the hell happened up there? 

The final pod is in bad shape, and it makes my skin crawl. Joker and Shepard...I haven’t seen either of them yet. They’re both inside this beat-up pod, so it’s hard to imagine they aren’t hurt. Badly. 

The doors whoosh open, and no one standing in front of it moves. No one comes out, and the C-Sec and emergency crews just stand there, staring. I find my senses and push past them, stepping inside the pod to get them out myself. Joker is on the floor, slumped and broken while simultaneously curled into a ball. His legs are at unnatural angles, and I can see bruises forming all over him, but the chaotic look in his eyes tells me that his mind is far more broken than his body. 

I reach for him, my heartbreaking. Joker loved that ship, it was his life, and I can’t imagine his pain. He whispers my name and closes his eyes, looking away. I recognize that expression. I can see the shame in his features. 

It’s only then that I realize what’s really wrong here. 

Joker is alone. 

I dart back out of the escape pod, my heart racing in an uneven rhythm while i search the docks. I must have missed her, but there’s no gorgeous redhead in sight. 

“Where’s the other escape pod?” I demand, not actually sure who I’m asking. 

“Garrus.” I whirl at the sound of Captain Anderson’s voice. He’s standing by Pallin and wearing his dress blues. He looks far too formal for the grief-stricken look on his face, the low set of his shoulders...the fucking tears rolling down his cheeks. 

One look at him, at Shepard’s mentor and father figure, and I know. 

Something snaps. I feel a physical pop inside me, somewhere in my chest. Whatever it was must have been holding the galaxy together because the entire Citadel sways around me. 

Everything goes blurry. I can’t hear any of the chaos anymore. I know someone is touching me, but I can barely feel it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that I’m not standing anymore. Someone is calling my name, but I can’t respond to it. I can’t move. I can’t…

Shepard isn’t on any of the pods. She’s not here. She and the Normandy. 

Gone. 

I’ve always had a somewhat pessimistic view of the galaxy. I realize that things aren’t unfair, and there is just as much evil in the world as there is good - if not more. 

But it’s not until that instant that I realize just how cruel the universe really is. 

Only now, now that she’s gone, does it hit me just how much Shepard meant to me. Nothing will ever be the same again. It’s not heartbreaking, it’s earth-shattering. 

A Turian only gets one chance at true love. And mine, my chance, my bondmate...my Shepard. Gone. 

*****

The next few days blur together. I can barely distinguish one day from the next, sleep evading me and people around me at all times. After breaking down on the Citadel, my friends and the crew of the Normandy decided they need to be worried about me. 

No one has called me out on it, on what happened between me and Shepard that brought on such a reaction. And I’m grateful for that. But I wish they’d all just leave me the hell alone. 

Even as I think it, I feel bad. Orbin and his wife have been around as much as they can, Liara and Chakwas keep coming to check on me, even Pallin and Anderson are around. I can barely look at Anderson, though; that’s just too painful. And Solana...I can’t face my family right now. 

Joker is the only thing that gets me moving in the days after. He was badly hurt in the Reaper attack on the Normandy and needs a lot of care - which he initially refuses because he blames himself for what happened. At first, I want to blame him, too. But I know Shepard better than anyone else; she would have sacrificed herself for anyone on that ship. 

I blame Shepard for her own death, and I am pissed about it. 

That makes her funeral pretty much hell for me. 

It’s an empty fucking casket. There’s no body, and we’re supposed to say goodbye to it. Worse, Shepard apparently updated her final wishes within the last year. She didn’t have much to leave, but she left it all to me and then assigned Wrex and me as her honor guard. The Krogan standing strong at the other end of the podium, holding what amounts to an empty wooden box, is my anchor. 

Someone chose a picture of Shepard to display, and it’s right in my line of sight for the hours that we have to stand there, pretending that any of this is OK. The photo is a good one, at least. She looks as beautiful as ever, caught in a candid moment of laughter. 

I know what she was laughing about when that picture was taken. I know that she’s smiling at me, just off-camera. 

I want to throw up to die every time I look at the picture. It mocks me the entire day, reminding me that she died a galaxy away from me and on a night when I ignored her call. She died without being mine, without knowing how I felt about her - before I even knew how I felt. 

Staring at stunning green eyes while people who barely knew her mourn Shepard’s loss makes me want to rage. I want to scream at that damn Hero of the Citadel for being so...good. She never had any understanding of how much this whole damn galaxy needs her. 

By the time the funeral is over, I’m convinced that the cold in my chest will never thaw. My mind feels clouded like I’m moving through thick mud in heavy boots. Something dark has settled in my mind. I can’t name it, can’t really even think about it...but it’s there. 

The only good thing about the funeral is that it reminds me why Shepard died. 

Her mission isn’t over, and that means mine isn’t either. The Reapers are still out there threatening our galaxy, and I know Shepard wouldn’t want me to quit now. 

But then I open my bedside table drawer, looking for pain killers, and something silver sticks out, sparkling in the dull orange lights from the Citadel outside my bedroom window. The second I see the chain, I know what it is and who left it. Shepard’s dog tags, a gift, a human tradition. “It’s a way of promising to come back,” she told me once. She promised to come back to me, even after…

But then she died. 

Shepard’s promise lights a fire under my ass. I know what she would have wanted me to do, and I’m entirely failing at it. She left me her dog tags, and I wear them inside my armor when I start exactly what I should have done in the first place. 

Pallin looks at me like I’ve totally lost my mind when I tell him I’m quitting Spectre training, and I want to pick up Shepard’s mission. He gets me a meeting with the Council, Liara and Joker standing with me while Tali and Wrex send their support remotely. 

It does nothing. 

They’re just as eager to deny the Reaper’s existence now as they were before. The difference is that now it feels personal; now, the Reapers have taken Shepard from me. 

It’s Anderson who inspires me to keep going when I see an interview he does with a reporter. Emily Wong is all too eager to sit down with me when she hears my name, and she agrees to a series of interviews and reports on the real threat. I’m impressed that she’s willing to call out the Council for lying about Saren. After they air, the Council asks me for a meeting. 

The bastards have the nerve to offer me status as a Spectre, immediately, if I’ll stop talking about the Reapers and go Geth chasing. I can have Shepard’s mission, but only if I let them continue spitting all over her reputation. I make sure all four Councilors are clear on where they can shove that idea. 

Everything collapses in on me the next day. The Council launches a series of public reports declaring Shepard was over-worked, over-tired, and confused. That’s the public side. Their whisper campaign is worse, suggesting that she was indoctrinated by Saren. It’s like a smack right in the face, and the only thing that keeps me together is knowing that Shepard’s crew won’t quit. 

And then, just when I’m wondering how much more I can take, Kaidan Alenko shows up at my door. 

Listening to that son of a bitch who fawned over Shepard, who claimed to love her and tried to take her from me, whine that he can’t be sure about the Reapers because she never took him on missions, is the final straw. Every blow, every disappointment, every failure makes that darkness in my mind harder to ignore and the cold in my chest heavier. 

It gets hard to breathe at all on the Citadel, my failures, and our memories everywhere. 

I’ve failed at picking up her mission. I can’t go after the Reapers on my own, I can’t convince anyone who matters that Shepard wasn’t crazy, and I can’t stay where I lost her. I can’t stay on the Citadel, and I can’t go home to my family a broken-hearted and shamed Turian. 

I leave my apartment to Joker, clear any tracking information from my Omni-Tool, and split my money onto un-named credit chits. 

And then I disappear.


	2. Fresh Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings: Mentions of rape and sexual assault, mentions of drug use.

If the universe didn’t hate me, I would have taken any of the other three shuttles leaving for Omega this week. It really is in keeping with the trend of my life lately that I pick the shuttle featuring a Turian guy and his Asari girlfriend who cannot keep their hands off each other. 

I don’t care that it’s bitter as all hell, I hate their happiness. 

Asari are shaped enough like humans that it all feels too familiar. I torture myself by watching his hands trace her curves, the same way I…

Don’t go there. 

I wonder if I’ll ever stop thinking about her. Wondering doesn’t help me stop at all. At the moment, it just makes me picture the way Shepard would make fun of me for my piss poor attitude about life right now. She’d never tolerate this kind of self-pity from me. 

And that doesn’t make it any easier to stop or any less painful. 

The happy couple is making it all too painful, so I drag my gaze off of them. The shuttle is fairly barren - not many people care to go to Omega ever, and especially not from the Citadel. A Salarian across from me is far too wrapped up in something on a datapad to capture my interest for more than a second. The only other people riding with us are a Batarian with a human who looks young. 

A Batarian and a human teenager. 

Alarm bells go off in my head immediately, and I shift in my seat, choosing to be a lot more careful about watching them than I was with the grabby couple. 

The girl is very thin; I may not know a lot about humans, but I’m fairly certain I shouldn’t be able to see that much of her collarbones or pick out her ribs under the top she’s wearing. I don’t like the clothes she’s wearing either. She seems really young to be in shorts that short or a shirt that revealing. The outfit strikes me as sexual, and it looks entirely out of place on someone who strikes me as a child. 

The Batarian goes to hand her something, a datapad he pulls out of a bag, and she flinches at the barest touch. When her arm moves, I can see bruises of varying ages under pale skin. There’s genuine fear on her face, and my heads-up display tells me that it’s reflected in her heart rate, too. 

I know in my gut that something is very, very wrong here. A quick glance at the couple and the Salarian tells me that no one else is paying enough attention to get their own red flags. The door to the cockpit is closed, so I doubt the pilot has even noticed, and I know enough about Omega to know that no one on that station will care enough to ask. 

Something horrible is going to happen to this child, and I don’t know who will stop it. 

My mind goes to Shepard again. I don’t know a lot about the time she spent in slavery at the hands of Batarians, but I saw some of the ways it affected her even as an adult. I saw a glimpse of what those nightmares were like for her. 

A pain sharp enough to take my breath away surges in the center of my chest at the thought of comforting Shepard, how small she felt when she cuddled against me and let me protect her from the dreams. That citrusy-cinnamon scent will never wash over me in bed again. That may have been true even if she didn’t…

My brain refuses to come up with the word. 

I focus back on the Batarian and the girl. His hand is on her thigh now, far too high for me to even pretend it’s legit. If I cause a disturbance, I’ll end up back on the Citadel, and this asshole will face no persecution at all, not with all the red tape from C-Sec. But if he moves that hand or tries anything else, I’ll tear his throat out right here. 

Maybe the gore could get the fucking Asari to quit moaning. 

The Batarian falls asleep well before the girl. She stays awake even longer than the Salarian and the Asari, who wants to cuddle while the Turian so obviously wanted more. I get some selfish joy out of his suffering and don’t try to hide it in my smirk or my subtones; his glare only makes me happier. The Turian and the girl both finally fall asleep, leaving me alone. 

I make a small effort at sleeping, but I can’t even take it seriously. Sleep has been almost impossible since Shepard left the Citadel, left my apartment...left me. I had an excuse when Joker was sleeping in my bed to recover from his injuries, but now I’m just staring at the walls of this shuttle. 

I try to distract myself with news on my Omni-Tool, and it blows up in my face; all the news is still about the death of the Hero of the Citadel and debates over whether or not Saren had indoctrinated her. It does nothing but piss me off, and I nearly throw the whole damn ‘Tool. 

The Batarian shifts in his seat and reveals the shoulder of his arm, covered in a symbol I recognize as belonging to the Blue Suns. Drugs and smuggling, that’s all we ever heard from the Blue Suns back on the Citadel. But on Omega, where there are no laws and no C-Sec? There’s no doubt in my mind this bastard Batarian is a smuggler, and that human child will be sold into slavery if I don’t do something about it. 

Over my cold dead body. 

Any ideas about sleep fly right out of the window, and I get a plan to stop this asshole rolling. It starts on my Omni-Tool, using the wireless connection to hack into that Batarian’s ‘Tool. I can’t resist the urge to hack the Turian’s as well, just to drop a few vids of the sort of porn that will at least concern his girlfriend. Then I manage to focus. 

You’d think a guy working for a supposedly well established inter-galactic gang would have better security on their files. The entire thing is disturbingly easy to access. Within a couple of hours, I have names and locations for this Batarian’s entire first day back on Omega - including the set-up to sell this girl. The communications in his ‘Tool never mentions the name of the buyer, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. What would I do with that, turn him in somewhere? I don’t need his name to kill him. 

And I am absolutely going to kill him. The buyer, the Batarian, and anyone else involved. 

Bullets will make me feel at least a little better. I haven’t used my rifle since the battle with Saren on the Citadel, and it’s long overdue. 

I choose not to think about what Shepard would say about my plan. Shepard isn’t here. If she wanted an opinion, she probably shouldn’t have died. 

My thoughts stall right there. Even those words are enough to choke me. I can’t focus on it. Knowing that I have a young girl to save helps distract me, but Shepard remains on my mind, and I’m playing with the dog tags before I realize I’ve made the decision to touch them. 

I can’t explain why touching them soothes me. Turians aren’t much for symbolism when it comes to the dead. We have our spirits, but that’s it. And I’m not generally a sentimental person. But these tags, these stupid pieces of metal from a military that can’t even defend it’s greatest hero in recent memory...they bring me a comfort I can’t find anywhere else. 

I don’t even take them off in the shower anymore. They’re the only thing keeping me grounded, and even with that, I’m barely hanging on. 

They’re the only thing that can help me get any rest, and I finally fall asleep hanging onto my final tie to Shepard.

*****

It says everything about Omega that the Blue Suns slaver isn’t the least bit suspicious or cautious in the morning, making no more effort to hide what he’s doing than to warn the girl to keep quiet. “There’s no help for you here anyway, human,” he snarls at her while the shuttle docking jostles the child’s emaciated body around. 

No help here for her. It feels like a personal insult. That kid is not alone, not as long as I’m alive. 

I have to play it cool, though. The rule on Omega is not to disturb the status quo, so if I create drama at the docks, no one will think twice about having me booted right off the station. If I start a fight in public too early, the Blue Suns will take it upon themselves to take me out, and they won’t be nice enough to use exile. 

I might wake up wishing I wasn’t alive most days, but that seems a little different than looking for the sort of fight that’s guaranteed to get me killed. 

I go for careful and stick to trailing the Batarian and his terrified human cargo from a reasonable distance. My height gives me an advantage to keeping a distance; even from a dozen yards back, I can see the human girl flinching at every touch and look at each alien she passes in fear. It’s obvious she’s already been through some shit, and the urge to comfort her makes my hands itch. 

It also means I’m going to have to be careful when I do get to her, when I get her away from the Blue Suns. She’s too traumatized to consider aliens anything but a threat, and she can’t be blamed for that. But I’ll figure that out when I get there. I have to handle her captives and would-be slavers first. 

Omega makes losing a trail easy and hiding even easier, the entire station built of dimly-lit alleyways and unpopulated spaces. Even the populated areas, like the sleazy marketplace we pass through that smells like day-old garbage left in the sun, are dark and dingy. Shadows abound, just begging for someone to creep around in them. 

The contrast to the always bright Citadel where you’re never out of view of cameras or cops is stark. I don’t honestly know which I prefer at the moment while the nature of Omega gives me the perfect opportunity to follow my target. 

The Batarian stops once at a food stand and makes a purchase. I assume at first that he just won’t get anything for the human, but then he hands her a package I recognize. It’s dextro-protein food, so the human may not be able to eat it safely. With an allergy, the food could make her deathly ill. And given her emaciated state, this child has either been starved or can’t keep any of the food she’s given down. 

I’m not surprised she tears open the package and takes the risk; I can see her drooling from here. She shoves it all in so fast that I barely see her chew, and she’s done well before the Batarian. When she inevitably throws it all back up in a corner less than thirty paces away, he berates her for it. Spirits only know what the hell he expected from her. 

When he smacks her, I nearly lose it. I can feel my heart rate and temperature spike, my hands clench. I only realize I’ve started moving in on the abusive bastard when I nearly run over an Asari who tells me exactly how she feels about my careless style of walking. I’m forced to stand there and deal with her tirade to avoid attracting the Batarian’s attention, and I have to dodge around her when they start moving on again. 

Just when I thought Omega couldn’t get worse, the Batarian leads me in a new direction and into what looks like a residential area. It’s the slums at best, homeless aliens of all species begging for food or a few credits or a warm bed every few feet. The prostitutes would be impossible to ignore anyway, even if I didn’t apparently have some kind of beacon attached to me for their attention. 

I’m polite to the first few, but when I realize that doesn’t help convince them I’m not interested, I stop talking to them at all. One of the only things I think Omega has over the Citadel is not policing the sex trade, but combining that with a total absence of law enforcement clearly has not done these sex workers any favors; I try my best to ignore the track marks, the bruises, the bite-shaped scars…

One crisis at a time, Vakarian.

As we continue to walk, I check the information compiled on my datapad to get an idea of where we are based on his plans. I’m going to need a place to stay, somewhere I can eat, maybe even a way to make money when this is over, so I keep track of where we’re going. Clearly, the Blue Suns do their business at the opposite end of the station from the docks, and I’m not sure if that will end up benefiting me or not. At least there are fewer civilians around when the Batarian finally starts to act like we’re getting close.

“You’d best not embarrass me, human,” he snaps at her, his raspy baritone echoing down the hall so that I can keep my distance and still hear. It’d be nice to be able to see them...now that I’m not on the Citadel or working for any reputable organization, maybe a few less than legal tweaks on my visor would benefit me. 

Of course, a ladder to the catwalks above us might serve the same purpose. Since that’s the quickest, most obvious solution, I take the climb and take each step after cautiously to avoid an echo. Sniper training does wonders to help someone nearly three hundred pounds of muscle, metal, and plates move without noise. 

“We’re going to make this quick, but stand up straight. Shit, can you make your tits look any bigger?” I hear the Batarian snarl. 

Bile rises in my throat at the demand of a barely pubescent underweight girl. 

“Eh, whatever. Not the first girl your age this fucking Turian has ordered; he knows what he’s getting,” the Batarian continues. I bristle again at that, at learning it’s a Turian making the purchase of an underaged human slave. There’s really only one purpose someone like this for a slave could hold, and I’m disgusted to learn its one of my own making the deal. And not for the first time. 

That Turian is dead the moment I get him in my sights. 

I follow the Batarian around a corner and discover, luckily from a distance, that I’m not the only one who thought to use the catwalks for access and a view. Another Batarian, also in Blue Suns armor, has his back to me and his eyes on the slave trade that should be happening any moment now, according to the time on my display and the Batarian’s schedule. 

If he’s involved, he’s complicit, and I decide his fate in an instant. 

I shift quietly to my knees and remove my bag, leaving it hidden behind an electronics panel. My rifle is already on my shoulder, and I keep it there, not about to draw attention to myself with a shot if I don’t have to. Instead, I creep toward the unaware Batarian lookout with nothing more than my bare hands. 

As much as I’ve been trying to avoid it constantly since she left, Shepard’s voice rings through my mind. One thought follows it: what would Shepard do? Even dead, the woman serves as my moral compass. Fortunately, right now, I know she’d do exactly what I’m planning to. 

The Batarian never turns, never has any idea that I’m coming. He doesn’t even get a chance to let out a muffled scream into my hand before his neck snaps, his spine giving such a satisfying pop that a chill runs down my spine. I lower him, carefully and slowly, to the ground instead of dropping the dead body. One down. 

The slaver and the child have stopped not far from me and have been joined by another Batarian and a human, both Blue Suns. I half expect the human to say something about the state of the girl, a member of his own species. He can’t be bothered, lighting a joint and lofting the sweet-swelling smoke up toward me. 

“He’s late,” the new Batarian growls. 

“Turians,” the other responds as if that one word explains everything. It’s nearly laughable since the rest of the galaxy know Turians as being overly strict and disciplined. My father would have a heart attack if he knew anyone anywhere thought Turians were late to anything. “You talk to Cathka?” 

“Yeah,” the human answers, exhaling a thick cloud before offering the joint to his teammates. They both look at the thing like he shit on it instead of just holding it in his mouth; the human might care more about the blatant xenophobia if it didn’t mean he got all the pot. “Said he got the first half, so we’re good to go for the sale. Supposed to collect the second half from the bird.” 

Ah, so the human is racist, too. The Blue Suns really know how to pick ‘em. 

I make a mental note of that name, Cathka. If he’s collecting cash on behalf of an operation like this, he’s probably pretty far up the food chain. Of course, that likely means Cathka won’t be at this creepy little meeting. I don’t have time to get frustrated about that before my visor alerts me to someone else approaching, and a Turian appears. 

It should surprise no one that he’s barefaced. 

I pull my rifle into my hands and consider shooting the son of a bitch the moment I see his gaze flash down to the child he’s about the purchase. The Turian looks at her the way most people look at dinner, and my stomach rolls, acid burning the back of my throat. I take a breath and focus, getting my head into the mission. 

The Turian is armed because, of course, the Turian is armed, but it’s just two handguns. The Batarian and the human are each carrying rifles, but the human is already stoned and won’t be useful if he can get the thing off his back at all. The Batarian who brought the girl is unarmed. I shift to my left, just enough to line up the Batarians. 

There’s a moment where I want to confirm with my commander, to hear Shepard tell me we’re a go. Or maybe I just want to hear her say anything at all. It won’t happen either way. I’m on my own. 

I should probably appreciate being my own commander, for once. I could care less. All I am is lonely and prepared to murder some sick sons of bitches. That, and pretty damn happy to have my rifle in my hands again. It’s the only thing as comforting as the dog tags, and it’s a hell of a lot more useful to me at the moment. 

And even knowing that I have to check for the tags before I focus on the deal starting. 

“How old?”

The Batarian growls at that. “You said thirteen or under, that’s what you’re getting. You’re getting what you asked for; let’s get this over with.” 

“Got the credits?” the other Batarian asks. 

There’s an exchange of credit chits that I allow to happen, making sure that they’ve gone far enough to make it official. The moment they cross that line of no return, as far as I’m concerned, I go into action. 

The first bullet tears through the back of one Batarian’s head, well over the human girl, and straight into the face of the other Batarian. Fireworks of orange blood explodes. I add red blood to it next, the human dead before either of the Batarians can even hit the ground. The Turian doesn’t get so lucky; no way am I granting him a quick death. 

I do give him a painful one, my third and final bullet tearing into his threat. The trajectory is perfect, close enough to his jugular to tear it while ensuring he’ll have several minutes of agony before death. 

And then my plan collapses in the form of a terrified human girl falling to her knees. I rush to the ladder and plant my boots on the railing so that I can slide straight down. This might have been the time to ask myself what Shepard would do since I should have realized yet another massive alien rushing the girl would not help. 

I stop cold when she cowers on the floor and covers her head, her skimpy clothes spattered in quickly congealing Batarian blood. She’s tiny anyway, even more while she’s on the ground, so I crouch to get closer to her size. “Hey, it’s OK. You’re OK now.” 

She trembles from head to toe, and I swear I can see the bones in her little body rattling. I hate that she’s surrounded by dead bodies, even if it was done to protect her. I put my rifle down by my feet, not willing to put it further away in case the Blue Suns send back-up, and let her see both of my hands. 

“I’m Garrus,” I tell the girl, keeping my voice low and soft. The tone I’d use to comfort Shepard during a nightmare, even though she can’t hear my subtone. “What’s your name?”

She blinks at me a few times before finally whispering, “Melody.” 

“Melody. OK, Melody, you’re going to be OK now. They can’t hurt you anymore. Will you come away from there with me?”

I watch her eyes flick down toward my hands; she shudders again but not as violently this time. I choose to believe that’s a good sign. 

“Melody.” She looks at me, obeying the firm tone of my voice. “No one is going to hurt you again. I will protect you.” 

“You killed them?” she asks, looking down at my rifle quickly. 

“I did, yeah.” 

I won’t lie to her, but not sure how she’ll react to that. She was taken from wherever she came by violence, she was probably exposed to violence before this, and now I was violent. Guilt fills my chest, and I try to stay calm even if she can’t hear my subtones; Spirits forbid I should start growling by accident. 

“They had to die,” Melody breathes, her voice definitely a little firmer now. “They were...bad.” 

I nod. “Yeah, they were bad.” 

I’m well aware that this child is not Shepard, that every human child who has been enslaved by Batarians - and there are a lot in this galaxy - is not like Shepard or represented by Shepard. But in this moment on a trash station and in a filthy alley with a terrified bright-eyed girl…

I can’t fail her, too. 

“Melody.” She watches me while I shift closer, and I move slowly, but she lets me kneel in front of her. I could touch her now if I wanted to, but I don’t dare. “Melody, listen to me. They were bad. You are not. You did nothing wrong, Melody.” 

I barely get her name out before the child throws herself forward and her arms around my neck, clinging to me with surprising strength. My neck grows wet instantly, and her sobs echo around us, loud enough to attract attention if anyone on Omega gave a shit. 

I shift back to sit down, putting my hands firmly in the middle of the girl’s back and trying not to notice her spine and rib bones. The girl has a seemingly endless number of tears to cry, and I don’t move, don’t ask her to stop, don’t try to talk to her. If I’ve learned anything about humans, it’s that they carry an inordinate number of emotions, and sometimes, all of those emotions explode at once. 

This was not how I saw my first day on Omega going. I came here looking to law low, looking for anonymity in a world that won’t talk about Shepard. Nowhere in my dreams about this did I imagine murdering slavers, killing a few Blue Suns, and comforting a child. Or at least I hope that this is comforting in some way. 

It only occurs to me then that I have absolutely no idea what to do with a human child who is likely pretty far from her family. Fuck. This would have been a really good thing to think about in advance. 

A noise draws my attention, heavy metal boots on the catwalk above us. Multiple people. 

I tighten one arm around Melody and whisper, “Shh,” while sliding backward on the floor toward my discarded rifle. Melody whimpers but lets me guide her behind me when I maneuver our backs toward a corner. “Cover your ears for me, Melody, OK?” I whisper to her. 

She obeys, clamping her hands over her ears and closing her eyes tight. 

“Good girl. You’re OK, Melody.” 

My heart is thundering a hell of a lot harder than it usually does when I’m preparing for a battle, knowing that this kid could get hurt or scared really making the tension skyrocket. Even still, I settle with a deep breath and take aim near the ladder, assuming whoever is approaching us will come down that way. 

“Easy!” someone calls, a Turian judging by the dual tones. “We aren’t Suns.” 

“And you took our kills, so,” another Turian chimes in. Now whoever is coming has managed to confuse the hell out of me, so I wait, figuring I can kill them on the ground as easily as on the ladder. 

A Turian comes down, followed by two others. They’re all in armor but not uniforms and no insignia, gang or otherwise. The first turns to me, his hands up defensively. Neither of the others have their guns in their hands, though I know they’re well-armed. 

“You’re alright, big guy, we’re on the same side.” 

He nearly gets shot just for using that nickname. 

“Who are you?”

“Sertis.” He mentions to the Turian man on his left and says, “Villo,” and then the woman on his right with a quick, “Caeria. But what matters is that we’ve been tracking that guy for a while.” He points to the Batarian, who had been on the shuttle with the girl. 

“We watched you take them out,” Caeria chimes in, something I don’t want to dwell on clear in her subtones. “Very impressive.” 

“OK. What are you still doing here? Clearly, your mission is done,” I tell them, still wary. I’m not stupid; no one is to be trusted on Omega. 

“Yeah? Well, what are your next steps?” Villo asks, cocking his head at me. “Got a plan for the kid?” 

Melody moves closer to my back and puts her hand down on my shoulder, still shaky. I nod to her, hoping she understands that I’m not going to give her away to strangers. 

“We do have a plan,” Sertis says, slowly reaching behind him to produce a datapad. He shows me the screen - blank - before moving closer. 

Something about these guys and the way they carry themselves feels official, so I’m not surprised when he pulls up a record and shows me copies of all of their C-Sec identifications. All of them have been expired for more than a year, but still. Ex-cops. That helps. 

“I have contacts on the Citadel still who are ready to collect her - “ 

“Melody,” I inform them. 

Sertis nods, first at me and then at the girl. “Melody, OK. Melody, I have a friend on the Citadel who is going to help you. They can help you see a doctor, find your family if they can, get you somewhere safe. How does that sound?”

Sertis extends the datapad to me while he talks to Melody, and I accept it, reviewing the shuttle ticket back to the Citadel that they’ve already purchased for her and communications between Sertis and his contact on the station - a cop. He also has records of the Batarian and the Turian, their travels, and agreements to sell this child. They did a lot of work...I really did steal their kills. 

Melody steps around me while talking to Sertis about the Citadel. She’s heard stories about the center of our galaxy from her family who were on a planet that I’ve never heard of. Melody isn’t sure where her family is now, but Sertis promises that his friend will help her find out. I can tell she believes him, and I do, too. 

“Melody.” She turns to look at me, her eyes brighter now. It eases the rest of my anxiety. “Are you OK going with them?” 

She looks between me and the ex-Cops, standing as close to me as she can without leaning on me. Her hand rests on my shoulder still, and it’s shaking just a little less now. 

“Will I have to ride alone? On the shuttle?” she asks. 

Caeria steps forward and crouches down. “No, I’m going to go with you. I’ll be with you on the ride, and to meet our friend, and even to see the doctor if you want. OK?” 

Melody looks at me, clearly searching for approval or my guarantee. I offer her a smile that I hope she can recognize as a smile and nod. “You’re OK now. Alright?” 

She smiles and squeezes my shoulder. I stand and hand the datapad back to Sertis while Melody accepts Caeria’s hand. The child gives me one more look and a smile that makes my heart skip before they walk away. 

Definitely not the way I saw my first day on Omega going, but it sure as shit feels worth it. 

“You’re good, man. Guessing you figured out on the shuttle over that something was going on?” Villo asks, lighting a cigarette. I nearly miss the end of his question, with my attention focused on the smoke. It’s a habit I quit almost five years ago now when my whole C-Sec squad quit, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want one now. 

Villo catches me staring and raises his brow plates before extending another. I accept it and the light quickly, reveling in the burn of smoke in my chest after a deep inhale. It’s the first moment something other than searing pain has filled me there since she died. 

“Uh, yeah. I caught them on the shuttle, trailed them...dealt with it.” 

“You sure did. Listen, this is kind of our thing - trailing and dealing with these gangsters and scumbags.”

I look Sertis over, wondering if he’s going to threaten me. “Yeah, I get it, stole your kills. Trust me, it wasn’t my intent.”

“No, big guy, I’m not telling you off,” Sertis laughs. “I’m offering you a spot with us, on our squad. We get paid for this shit, and you’re obviously already trained in it.” 

“No.” I can tell the answer surprises them, but I don’t wait for him to deal with that. “Thanks for the cigarette.” 

I walk around them, heading for the ladder so that I can collect my bag. 

“Hey, man, don’t you even want your share of credits for stealing our kills?” Villo calls after me. 

I roll my eyes, glad that two members of my species can’t call me out on a very human move. “Keep it. Consider it my apology for the steal.” 

“Well...what’s your name?”

I roll my eyes at that too and don’t bother replying or stopping again. 

I’m not here to find anyone to work with. I’m not here to deal with scumbags and gangsters. I just want to start over. 

That’s not true. I want Shepard back. At the very least, I want to go home, let my mom and my sister coddle me for a few days. But I’m a foolish, pathetic Turian who fell in love with a human Spectre who sacrificed herself for a mission. I could never go home like this and have to face my father, my people, our military. 

All I have is Omega.

*****

Omega is a fucking hellhole. 

There is no police force, no government, no people who actually give a shit about their station, other people, or the quality of their own lives. I don’t need luxury to be happy - I picked Zakera Ward on the Citadel because it was more urban and less high class - but this place is disgusting. 

I hate Omega. And that makes signing a one-year lease on an absolute shit apartment on Omega the perfect move for me. It hurts just as much as everything else, and I’m practicing a lot of wallowing these days. Wallowing, drinking, and cigarette smoking. 

There’s a redhead Commander wherever humans go when they’re dead who is very disappointed in me. But she is dead. And that’s just too fucking me for me to deal with. 

I only piss myself off further by being entirely unable to ignore all the crime on my shit new home station. I try my best to pretend I don’t see the drug deals, the assaults, the sex and sex slaves, the fucking rape. It’s impossible; I don’t have it in me. No matter how badly I want to say fuck it and stay too drunk to notice, no matter how much I want to piss on Shepard’s empty damn grave to spite her for leaving me...I hear her in my head. 

Shepard’s voice is haunting me; more than once I’ve woken up convinced she’d be in my room, it all feels so real. And all the woman who ripped my heart out can say when she visits is that she’s proud of me. I hear her say that she loves my sense of justice. I’m forced to listen to Shepard after she abandoned me and sacrificed her life for a galaxy that doesn’t deserve her tell me that she trusts me to do the right thing. 

And Shepard always did the right damn thing. 

Even now that she’s gone, I’m compelled to do what Shepard would have expected of me. And that means being the only damn person who bothers to enforce morality or laws or ethics on Omega. 

For petty shit, I get it. Most citizens on Citadel didn’t care about minor crap or even small crimes like muggings. Sure, on Palaven, no one gets away with shit - but what do you expect from a planet covered in billions of Turians? The vast majority of people anywhere in the galaxy don’t see beyond themselves and their own needs. Fine. 

But on Omega? There’s a serial rapist running around the station. Twelve people have been raped in the last month, two in the week since I got here. People are panicked but they can’t manage to do anything that actually makes a difference. The only group of people even bothering to come up with plans that actually work to protect themselves are the sex workers, and I start there for help. 

Someone has to do something. There is a monster running loose on this station, and I won’t live here with this threat. And since I don’t have anywhere else to live, the rapist needs to be put down. 

Not surprisingly, the sex workers on Omega have exactly one thing on their mind when they spot me. It’s far more times than I want to be touched in a thirty-second stretch by the time I reach the area of Omega that they call the Overpass. If the rest of Omega is dark and dank, this area is a literal hole. I’m nauseous the moment I arrive and nearly overcome with an urge to gouge my own eyes out when an Asari takes my rejection as an opportunity to offer me a prepubescent child. 

I was a cop for years. I’m aware that sex workers, while never unionized or officially working together, are a team. A community. They work together and protect one another. And though I haven’t been a cop for a while either, these people can smell it on me. None of them is going to tell me a damn thing, whether or not I’m trying to help. 

“The woman who was raped three days ago worked with you,” I remind an Asari who introduced herself to me as Sapphire. Her name is definitely not Sapphire. “She is still in the clinic, and that creature will be back for you.” 

“Honey.” She pops her gum loudly. “Calling her a woman instead of a whore isn’t gonna make me feel like you give a shit. What’s your angle?”

A Batarian guy behind her who is actually wearing less clothing than her snorts derisively. 

“I don’t want a rapist running around my home station,” I snap at her, trying my best not to reach for my rifle and get rid of that Batarian’s smile for good. 

“And what do you expect to be able to do about it?” Sapphire asks, leaning forward to make sure she presents her breasts. I have no doubt that works for her in just about every situation; this woman could probably convince even Sparatus to pull the stick out of his ass. It’s really a shame she’s wasting them on me. 

“He’s a cop,” the Batarian informs her. 

“There are no cops on Omega,” Sapphire retorts, never taking her eyes off of me. They’re mostly on my crotch, sure, but still. 

“I’m an ex-cop,” I correct them. “And I am on Omega, where none of us needs some scumbag forcing himself on strangers.” 

The Batarian gives another scoff and shoves his hand into his shorts, adjusting his cock as blatantly and casually as I would check my Omni-Tool for the time. “And what is so special about you, cuttlebone?”

My fingers instantly twitch, an instinct to sink my talons into his throat. The racism is more than enough of an excuse to lay the son of a bitch out...and, of course, that’s when Shepard’s voice pops into my mind. We cannot control what other people do, only our response to them. 

“Few weeks ago, you’d already be dead. Now, I’m trying to save your ass,” I growl at him. 

“You can’t even hit this asshole, and you expect us to believe you can handle the rapist?” Sapphire drawls. “I think we’ll take our chances here, honey.” 

“Oh, come on, Saph. I’d let this solid wall of handsome try to handle anything he wanted.” The choice of words is a stab in the gut, far too familiar and blindingly painful. Even worse is the overwhelmingly need to turn, to find her, even when I know it can’t be her. 

Instead, when I whirl and find a human, it’s definitely not Shepard...although that look on his face resembles her. The guy who managed to quote her is tall but way too thin to be anything even resembling healthy with short blonde hair, espresso brown eyes, and random tattoos all over. A lot of them are visible since he’s only wearing a pair of black, loose-fitting pants, and beat-up boots. That, and a whole bunch of scars and track marks. 

He has a smirk on his face, but there’s something broken in his eyes. And fuck there’s something about him that gets me hot. 

I wanted to get out of the Overpass the moment I got here, but I want to get away from this guy worse than anything. 

“Fuck it. I knew I shouldn’t have bothered.” I start walking backward, determined to get away but not stupid enough to turn my back to any crowd. “You deal with the rapist yourselves. Best of luck.” 

With some distance, I spin on my heel and head back to my shit apartment and my new shit life. I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. It’s not like I really wanted to have to solve a crime on a station like this, where nothing will happen to the criminal anyway...unless I choke the life out of him with my bare hands. So why does it bother me that I effectively got stonewalled on this?

I don’t need to help anyone. I’ve done enough on Omega already. My life isn’t about helping anymore; all my motivation to do that is dead - either literally or figuratively. Wallowing. Drinking. Cigarettes. That’s what I do now. 

I light one now and make a turn that I don’t need to take when I become certain someone is tailing me. I have to hope its the rapist; I would get so much joy out of destroying that asshole and then sending his dismembered dick to the Overpass, special delivery to Sapphire. 

It’s probably not the rapist, considering that whoever is tracking me absolutely sucks at it. It seems really unlikely that this shuffle-footed prick could stalk and nab anyone successfully. Plus, based on the light way that the heavy pair of boots their weighing is landing, I can’t imagine this person is anywhere big enough to take down someone of my size, but I’ve learned not to underestimate a foe. 

Fortunately, the poor tracking skills keep up, and they stay far enough back that I can duck behind a dumpster in an alley. I almost have time to light another cigarette before they finally pass me, but I would have dropped it in shock when the skinny human prostitute walks by in a rush, clearly trying to catch me. Definitely not who I expected.

“Never had a hooker try so hard before,” I tell him, pushing off the wall and stepping forward to stand in the middle of the alley behind him now. 

He whips around, obviously startled. He’s wearing a tank top too small for him now, bright purple and cut off so that most of his waist is revealed. The guy looks even skinnier with more clothing on; he needs a couple solid meals. 

We need nothing from one another. 

“I’m flattered, but not interested. Get back to work.” 

He huffs out a breath and leans forward, planting his hands on his knees like chasing me exhausted him. “I’m not trying to jump your bones,” he pants. Brown eyes flash up and look me over. “I mean, I would totally blow you for half price, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not why I followed you. Shit, do you have any idea how fast you walk?” 

“Is there a point to this?” Having a human talk about blowing me hits almost as close to him as hearing this guy accidentally quote Shepard. I already hear her in my dreams and in my own mind. I don’t need this torture, too. 

This week has been bad enough as it is.

“Yes! Yes, there is a point, geez. Are you always this serious?”

“OK, we’re done.” I ran out of patience weeks ago, and the control on my temper is getting low. Before I can do something I’ll regret to someone who doesn’t deserve it, I turn and start walking back the way I came. 

“Wait!” The human appears at my side, half-jogging to keep up with me. “Seriously, are you in a race I don’t know about?” 

“I don’t walk fast, it’s just that human legs are so short, you have to take an unnecessary amount of steps to get anywhere. Who designed you useless aliens?” 

That gets a laugh out of him. Unexpected. “Whatever, big guy.” I wince at that one and try to hide it, digging in my pocket for a cigarette immediately. “Listen, I heard what you were saying to Saph and Bran. Those guys are assholes, but you’re right; someone needs to stop that creep. I wanna help.” 

I stop faster than I mean to, fast enough that the human almost misses it and has to backtrack a couple of steps to stand in front of me again. I study him while taking a slow drag and wish for about the millionth time in the last year that humans had subtones so I could be certain whether or not he’s lying. He looks genuine enough. And if it’s a trap, I’ll kill him. 

“Those two made it pretty clear that each of you is only out for yourselves. What should make me believe you give a shit?”

“Yeah, I was born on Omega, okay? My mom, too. It’s like you said, I gotta live here. I work here, and the rapist douche has already taken two others from the Overpass.” He shrugs, the bones in his shoulders sticking out so much it hurts to look at. “I don’t wanna be next.” 

Humans don’t have subtones, but at that moment, I catch the one thing that serves as a lie detector when it’s too loud to hear their heartbeats. Fear. This guy is afraid of the rapist, and it’s the first thing that’s made me trust or like him. 

I reach into my pocket again and hold out the pack of cigarettes, offering him a chance to take one. He doesn’t miss the chance. “When’s the last time you ate?” 

He lights the cigarette but narrows his eyes at me, righteous indignation replacing fear. Humans are so predictable. “Don’t go getting all charity on me, man. I just wanna - “ 

“Shut up. I’m starving. Are you coming?”

I don’t wait for his answer before heading toward the only restaurant I know of that sells food a human can eat. I can’t get help from the guy if he starves. And Shepard wouldn’t want him to starve; she’d probably adopt him, stray pup that he is. 

That’s almost enough to make me laugh. 

*****

Devon, as he introduces himself, does end up having a lot of useful information. I went to the sex workers because they have a personal stake in stopping the rapist, but they have the added benefit of knowing everything about this station. Devon seems especially aware of the back streets and channels around Omega. I might wonder why if not for the track marks; he doesn’t travel the station for his job or his clients but for his drug habits. And damn does he eat like a starving addict. 

I buy him enough meals to feed several grown Turians and let him talk. Devon is happy to share it all; I get the feeling it’s not often that someone listens when he speaks. 

The rapist has raped a lot more people than just the most recent prostitute; that’s just the only one that got attention and only then because she was raped and murdered after three regular people. Even then, Devon is pretty sure that if one of them wasn’t a well-connected and well-known drug dealer - one that a number of people on this station rely on - no one would have noticed. 

“This is not our first serial rapist, definitely not our first serial killer,” he tells me around a mouthful of food. I wonder if he’s biotic, considering the appetite. “Most of the time, no one notices. And if the guy has any brains, he’ll focus on us. No one cares if whores die.” 

“Including some of you,” I remind him. 

“Very true,” he allows with a shrug, somehow managing to fit even more food in his mouth. “The thing is, money rules our industry just like any other. Less competition means more business left for you.” 

“Why don’t you think that way?” 

Devon narrows brown eyes flecked with green and gold at me. There’s no way he’s more than mid-twenties. I don’t want to think about how he ended up here, working in this industry on this shithole station.

“Don’t get it in your head that I’m special, okay? I just don’t wanna fucking die, and I definitely don’t wanna be raped,” he snaps at me. 

“Fine, you’re not special. I have no problem with that. But you are helpful. So keep talking. What do you know about the rapist?” 

Devon doesn’t want to be singled out. I get it. Attention is dangerous in a place like this; he doesn’t want to end up with a reputation as someone who helps an ex-cop. I don’t want him to end up in a sewer. But we both need to put an end to this asshole.

“It’s worse than you know,” Devon says, almost like a warning. “Kyla was missing for a week before her body turned up. She had bruises, cuts, and burns that hadn’t been there before but were healing.” 

My stomach churns, and I take a gulp of my coffee to settle it. “You think he kept her for a week?” 

“Yeah. And the others too from what I heard.” 

“You saw the body?” I confirm, certain that no one took the body of a hooker in for an examination on Omega. She was probably burned. I need another sip of coffee to keep from losing my breakfast. 

“Dude. Who do you think found her?” I would roll my eyes at the name if he wasn’t for the dark look in Devon’s eyes. It’s the only thing that’s made him stop eating for even a second, the memory of finding her body. Whether or not Kyla was a friend, Devon isn’t going to reveal. But you don’t forget finding a familiar corpse. 

Devon shakes it off and shovels more food in. “By the way, unless you want me to keep calling you dude, you’re gonna have to tell me your name. I mean, I’m definitely into the whole mysterious hero vibe you have going on but - “ 

“Definitely not a hero,” I interject, determined to cut that one off at the knees. It gets Devon’s hopes up needlessly if he thinks of me that way. And it’s entirely untrue. If I were a hero, she’d be alive. 

No amount of coffee can quell the nausea that brings up, so I focus on deep breaths instead. 

“Besides, what makes you think you’ll be around long enough to keep calling me anything?”

Devon laughs. “Please. You need me. You’ve already proven you have no idea how to get information out of a prostitute. Don’t you know they need the cash or the dick first?” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at me. 

“No one is getting any dick, before or after.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying my best to drive the point home. Devon just smirks and shrugs, very much a ‘we’ll see’ sort of move. I roll my eyes and decide not to focus on it. What matters is that he’s right.

I need help. I have to work out this guy’s patterns, his motive, and style if I’m going to take him down. And I can’t get any of that on my own. But that doesn’t mean I’m signing on for a partner, a friendship, a fuck buddy, or any other role Devon might see himself in. I came to Omega specifically to be alone, to be anonymous. I have a mission now, in taking down this rapist, but it changes nothing else. 

*****

I invite Devon back to my motel room only because he eventually stops eating, and we can’t sit in the restaurant all day. I still need information, and he’s still giving it away. Unfortunately, none of what I’m hearing is any good. 

“I told you, dude, none of it makes any sense.” He’s been calling me that more and more often, a pretty weak attempt at getting my name. 

“You’re wrong, dude,” I inform him, handing over a datapad for him to examine. Devon stops scratching his arm for all of three seconds to look; he’s jonesing for a fix and is going to need one very soon if he’s going to continue being useful. Or coherent. “He snags a new victim four days after the last body was dumped.” 

“But Kyla’s body was dumped three days ago.” 

“Yeah, I know. He’s going to grab a new one tomorrow.” 

Devon just makes a soft humming noise, but I watch him, at war with myself. He could be a lot more useful than I think he imagined, but I could be asking him to risk a lot more than I want to sacrifice. 

What would Shepard do?

I push the thought away, anger sparking in my gut. I don’t know why my subconscious wants to focus on that, on her, just to torture me. Shepard isn’t here, and I don’t know what she’d do because Shepard would never be on Omega in the first place. 

There’s only one clear way forward, and if I’m going to take this bastard rapist down, I have to make hard choices. I can’t be weak if I’m going to do this. 

“How do you reach your dealer?” 

Devon blinks at the question but doesn’t both to deny it. “Text.” 

“You can meet him out front of the hotel, but don’t give him my room number. Understood?” Devon nods and practically leaps to his feet, already typing. “Hang on. How do you pay him?” 

I get a deadpan look for that before Devon demands, “How the fuck do you think I pay him?” 

Well, finally found out how to strike a nerve with Devon. He’s not ashamed of his profession, of how he makes a living. Devon doesn’t talk about sex work or the things he’s done any differently than I would talk about C-Sec. But he is ashamed at selling himself in exchange for the drugs he’s hooked on. 

I don’t respond, instead just using my ‘Tool to transfer credits to his. It takes three seconds, and then Devon is frowning at me. 

“First of all, how did you get my ‘Tool info? I didn’t send it to you. And also, why did you do that? You need a hit, too?” 

“Definitely not,” I snap back, insulted at the suggestion. “I need you focused, which means I don’t need you in withdrawal.” 

Devon narrows his eyes briefly, but then a smile grows across his face. “Oh, I get it. You can be all pure and distant, and you won’t buy sex, but you’ll buy me drugs in exchange for it.” 

He actually looks insulted when I bark out a laugh, and I hold up a hand in apology while trying to catch my breath. “No one has ever called me pure before, that’s a good one. But no, not at all. I’ll tell you how you can pay me back for the drugs after you’re feeling right again. And you have the option to say no.” 

“Ha! Pretty sure no one has ever said that to me before,” he quips. Something inside me shatters at the words, at the thought of this kid not having the choice to say no. My heart wants to wonder if Shepard ever felt that way, that the choice had been taken from her while she was enslaved, but my brain refuses to let it; I don’t want to see the aftermath of those thoughts. 

I shake my head and focus as Devon’s ‘Tool dings, a sign that his dealer has arrived. “What’s your poison? Sand?” He nods. “Fine. You can shoot in here; it’s safer. But don’t get it in your head that I approve of it.” 

“Don’t get it in yours that I give a fuck what you approve of.” And with that, he disappears from the room to collect his supply. 

Respect blossoms in my chest for Devon. I have to use him, but I’m going to do my best to protect him. No one else will get hurt on my watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed the author's soul! 
> 
> I know the world has gone a little crazy so I hope it helps a bit to know that I'm drafting the ME2 portion of Elle and Garrus's story and it's A LOT fluffier than I imagined. I promised you a romance, didn't I? Garrus is in a dark place right now, but I promise there's light ahead for him, and for all of us. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay inside! Sending love!


	3. Archangel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of rape.

It’s disturbingly easy to convince Devon to agree to my plan. He should have some concern or objection or something to be used as bait for someone who has raped, murdered, and mutilated multiple people already. He doesn’t even do the usual ‘what’s in it for me’ that we got from informants on C-Sec. 

Devon only makes one request, and it’s easy to agree to. He asks if he can crash on the couch in my motel, and I have no problem letting him. At first, my only caveat to the agreement is that Devon not use more red sand than exactly what he tells me he’s using. 

Very quickly, I have to add an amendment to our agreement that will keep Devon out of my shower...and my bed. He’s tenacious when he wants something, I’ll give him that. 

Once he starts snoring in the sort of passed out sleep that only an addict can manage, I manage to get some rest. Some. Very little. Sleeping on Omega is hard anyway, considering all the noise, but this hotel is vile. My brain wants to dwell on everything that might be on the sheets, and my body cannot settle into this rock-hard mattress, no matter how well it’s supposed to be designed for Turians.

It’s not really the disgust or the bed, though. It’s definitely not worry about Devon assaulting me while I sleep; he’s playful, not a creep. I can’t sleep anymore because the moment I try to rest, the second my brain makes an attempt at shutting down, I’m filled with Shepard. I can hear her, smell her, almost feel her as if she were in bed right next to me. The torture isn’t worth sleeping. 

I let Devon sleep in for a while in the morning. He’s going to be putting his life at risk tonight; I might as well let the guy go into it well-rested. It gives me a chance to get breakfast, and being out of the motel gives me a chance to go through Devon’s personal history - which, of course, I hacked and stole. 

It’s not easy to find information on someone on Omega, and especially not someone who is trying to get lost here; that’s a major part of why I’m here. But with the right angles and a lot of experience, I learn that Devon was taken from his home planet by a mercenary group when he was a kid. As far as I can see, he’s been in the sex trade since then...when he was eight. 

That effectively destroys my appetite, so I bring extra food back for Devon, and he doesn’t let any of it go to waste. I disappear into the shower to try and scrub the information off, but the water here isn’t near hot enough to scald me. At least it’s enough time to relax a little. 

“Oh, come on! You got dressed in the bathroom?” Devon scowls when I emerge. “Shit, dude, I can’t even get a glimpse?” 

“Not even a glimpse, dude,” I respond. 

“I’ve seen Turians naked before, you realize.” 

“Oh, then what’s one more?” 

Just the idea of getting naked in front of someone who has had nude bodies forced on him for more than a decade in a short life is appalling to me. And I think it’ll be awhile before I can get naked in front of anyone, anyway. I haven’t even managed to get hard on my own since…

I’m never going to be able to eat again if I don’t stop losing my appetite to my thoughts. 

“Fine. But not telling me your name? That’s harsh.” 

Shit. He’s right. “Garrus. My name is Garrus.” 

“Garrus.” He gives me a low moan and a very obvious once over. “That is an excellent name for screaming.” I roll my eyes, and Devon smirks, cocking his head to the side. “And that is a thing that only humans do. Where did you learn it?”

“We aren’t swapping histories.” I scold myself for the slip. Things like that will let him know too much. 

It feels bad knowing I’ve already searched his history without permission, and cheap knowing that I’m using him for my purposes. But after tonight, Omega will have one less rapist, and Devon never has to see me again. That means there is nothing he needs to know about me. 

“Whatever you say. Can we talk about your plan for tonight? Where should I be?” 

The plan is simple enough, and it’s finally an effective use of my C-Sec training. I learned a lot by hacking into camera systems around the station - useless mostly because no one bothers to review them, but bits and pieces helped. From what Devon told me and what I figured out about the bodies, I got a pattern on the rapist. 

I know where and when he’s going to hit next, and I’m putting Devon directly in his path. 

I choose not to tell Devon that the location isn’t ideal when we arrive that night. I don’t have as direct a shot as I’d like to, and I have to take an odd position that is definitely going to leave me with a sore back when we’re done. But I do have a shot; I’ve made much more difficult shots and dealt with much worse conditions.

Well, maybe not that last part. The used condom I have to kick out of my way to take a prone position in a sewer pipe might make this the worst condition I’ve had to contend with. Who the hell would have sex in a sewer pipe? I don’t think I could actually hate Omega more. 

“You’ve thought this through,” Devon mutters when I confirm I’m in position over comms. “So...you were a soldier.” 

“What?”

He chuckles, doing a nice job of covering it up and not looking like he’s talking to himself in the alley. Our comms aren’t visible, so as long as he keeps this up, he looks totally innocuous. I make a point of not noticing how much skin he’s showing or the way he’s moving to attract attention. 

“You know what you’re doing. You’ve obviously done this before. You were a soldier.” 

“Devon, I’m a Turian. Every last one of us is a soldier.” 

“Yeah, well.” Devon subtly turns to be able to smirk in my direction. “You were also a cop, and you dated a human. Who were they?” 

My heart leaps into my throat, threatening to choke me while it pounds rapidly. I nearly lose the only meal I’ve managed to choke down in days when emerald green eyes flash in my mind. I never dated a human, no, but the memories of Shepard in my home - that brief period when we were together - are enough to haunt me. At this moment, they’re enough to threaten to destroy me.

“Hey, big guy, you still there?”

A shudder runs down my spine, and I nearly lose the hold on my rifle; that never happens. 

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. The silence on the other end makes me wince. Devon isn’t the problem here. “Sorry. I just...shit, were you a cop? What makes you think I dated a human?” 

“You do and say things like a human, so you know them. But you have markings like you’re from Palaven, so you didn’t grow up with humans.” Devon leans against a wall, arching his spine to draw attention. I don’t know how he manages to make that look so casual. “So...tell me about them.” 

There’s no way I can make that casual. I can barely think about Shepard without wanting to break down or kill something, and I can’t afford to do that right now. Devon’s life is literally on the line here. I need to hold it together, so he needs to stop asking questions. 

“Devon...I can’t.” 

“That bad, huh?” I don’t dare answer that, trying instead to focus. The hooker a few yards away from Devon who is giving a blowjob to an impressively well-hung Batarian is an excellent distraction but does not help my nausea. 

“Hey, Garrus?” Devon’s tone of voice strikes me, and I move the scope back to him. “Talk to me.” 

It’s only then that I realize Devon is almost shivering, jittery and jumpy. He’s sweating. The guy is bait for a rapist; he’s terrified. 

“Did you hear about the Battle of the Citadel?”

“Of course. Everyone did.” 

“Wanna hear the inside story?” 

There’s a pause, and then I can almost hear the light click on inside his head. “Holy shit, that was what brought you here? Seriously?”

“I offered you a story about the battle. Take it or leave it.” 

“Oh, honey, I’ll take it.” I have to fight not to laugh loud enough to give my position away, but at least Devon is feeling better.

I reward him for the joke by telling him about the entire mission...well, mostly. Devon eats up all the details, from Saren murdering a fellow Spectre I choose not to name through Sovereign taking over Saren’s body after I shot him in the face. By the end of the story, Devon is clearly feeling much better, and I’m feeling sick. 

Talking about the year of my life that Shepard colored every single moment of without mentioning Shepard makes me feel gross. Hollow. Fucking empty. But I can’t shatter right now, not during a mission. Especially not now while Devon’s life is on the line. 

And most definitely not while some creep has been casing Devon and the area for at least the last few minutes of my story. I never planned to tell Devon when the guy was coming at him for fear that he’d freak out and give us away, but I need to stop him from talking to himself if anyone gets close enough to hear it. 

“Alright, Devon, keep your cool for me. I think he’s here.” Devon barely tenses at all; if I hadn’t been watching him for this long, I wouldn’t recognize it. He does tense, though. “Hey, listen to me. You’re fine. I’ve got you. OK?” 

Barely a nod, but his shoulders relax just a tiny bit. Good enough. I’ll feed him a six-course meal after this as a genuine thanks. 

The guy who might be Omega’s most recent serial rapist is terrifyingly well-built considering what I think he’s done. He could so easily overpower someone like Devon, and the thought makes my trigger finger itch. He’s human, as expected, and tall with darker hair than I’ve ever seen on another human. 

He also has a lot of that very dark hair, including on his face and arms. If he was on another station, one with law enforcement, that would be a dream for DNA collection. 

Here, he’s just another dirty fucking scumbag. 

Devon is flawless, appearing entirely relaxed. As the might-be rapist starts moving toward him, Devon makes a move to draw attention to himself without making himself so obvious that it looks like a trap. He’s so clearly an expert at this...disturbing. 

“Working?” the rapist asks him, also clearly an expert. 

“Mmhmm. What are you looking for?” 

“Privacy. Come back to my place.” It’s not a question, and I told Devon that it was a move the rapist would try. He knows damn well that any pro won’t go with him, and he uses that as an excuse to get pissed off. It’s how the rapist and murderer justifies his own sick bullshit. I’m sure a shrink would be very interested in what makes a guy need rage to get it up, but I just want to take him down for it. 

Well, that and chop his fucking dick off. That’s a thing Shepard definitely would not do. For some reason, that actually makes me want to do it more. Distance from her makes me feel good, destroying a rapist makes me feel better.

“Here or the Overpass,” Devon counters, running a hand through his hair. It’s literally the most extreme twitching I’ve seen from him. This guy was born for undercover work. Well, except for the sex work and drug addiction. 

“Here.” The rapist goes tense, and his voice has dropped; one simple thing and he’s pissed. This is one unhinged sicko. “And I want the full Presidium.” 

“Oh, I do not want to know what that means,” I mutter, aware that Devon can hear me. He makes the smirk work for him and steps toward the man that he knows he’s going to try raping him. “You know where to take him. I have a view. You’ll be OK.” 

“You got it,” Devon replies, talking to both of us. “Come on.” 

He takes the other man’s hand in his and starts walking backward, biting his lip and moving in a seductively slow way. A flashback threatens, that expression on Shepard’s face, but I swallow it down. My bullshit cannot put Devon at risk. 

I shift just a bit, getting my rifle into position before Devon pulls his would-be-customer-if-he-wasn’t-scum behind a corner, near a box I placed for him as a marker. They appear, and I take aim. I’m not going to let him hurt Devon, but I’m too much of a cop to act before I have proof. Fortunately, this particular bit of scum won’t make me wait long. 

Devon goes for the guy’s belt, exceptionally brave while letting the man grope and growl at him. “Ooh, someone is already excited to see the Presidium,” Devon quips. 

And that does it. 

The man goes stiff as a board and then moves in a flash, grabbing Devon around the throat with both hands. I rest my finger on the trigger and hold my breath, waiting for him to give me the nail in the coffin. Or the bullet in his head. 

I can see his face, not Devon’s, and his expression is full of rage with an ugly purple vein bulging from his forehead. “I’ll show you,” the guy growls at Devon. “I’ll make you scream, you filthy bitch.” 

I can tell he tightens his hands when Devon gags. And yet, he doesn’t use the hand signal I have him. He trusts me.

“You think you know me, that you get me excited?” he snarls. “I’ll give you what you need.” 

The rapist grabs at his own belt down, tearing through his pants to get himself ready. It gives Devon enough leverage to fight him off a little, managing to squeak out a, “No.” 

And then the rapist actually laughs. “You think I care whether you want it?” 

A simple squeeze, barely any effort on my part, and the rapist is screaming while blood and Spirits only knows what else explodes all over both of them. The man drops straight to his knees, moaning and grabbing what used to be his dick. 

“Hell of a shot!” Devon calls while I drop from the pipe, his voice a little hoarse, but otherwise none the worse for the wear. I move to him first anyway, keeping a hold on my rifle but tilting his head back. “Oh, this is that whole submissive signal thing Turians are into? I dig it.” 

“Shut up and let me make sure you’re alright.” Devon gives a little laugh but keeps quiet, letting me prod at his throat so that I can be sure he doesn’t need medical attention. The way his breath hitches when I barely touch his windpipe does not reassure me. 

A groan from the rapist who is quickly bleeding out distracts me. He’s bleeding out too quickly. 

“I want you to go to that clinic,” I tell Devon, leaving no room for an argument in my voice. “I’ll come check on you after - “ 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Devon snaps, arguing whether there was room for it or not. “This fucker…” He has to pause to cough, holding his throat and wincing in pain. It lances through me; I hate that he was hurt for my plan. “This fucker put his hands on me. I want to watch you take him down.” 

I take a breath. It’s hard to deny Devon that much. And what I have planned won’t take that long. 

“Alright. You’re right. You’ve earned this.” Devon seems surprised I gave up but nods and looks down at the asshole. I follow his gaze, finding the rapist’s dick a mess and his eyes rolling back in his head. “None of that. Not yet.” I reach down and smack him, bringing the rapist back loud and clear. 

“Why?” he manages to spit out, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

“Because someone who meant a lot to me told me that they loved my sense of justice. And that’s the only fucking thing I have now.” 

I’m not even sure I realized that was true before I spit it out. Shepard has been on my mind this whole time, of course, but I didn’t intentionally take on some crazy-ass mission to avenge her. 

Avenging her. The idea actually sounds...good. It’s the first thing that’s sounded right to me at all. 

“G, you OK?” Devon asks, startling me a little. I realize then that I’ve been staring like a fool, but then I snap to and grab the rapist, pulling him up with me when I stand. It obviously creates a fresh wave of agony for the man whose balls are literally hanging in strips from his body, the urine pouring from him now likely not helping the pain. 

“Oh, that’s disturbing,” Devon groans. “What are you gonna do with him?” 

My plan going in had been to airlock him. To let this asshole die slowly suffocating in deep space - one of the most painful deaths I can think of. The way Shepard died. But now, thinking of her...Shepard loved my sense of justice. Omega has no justice. 

“It’s time to let the people of Omega know there is justice.”

*****

It’s not a pretty job, but it’s damn effective. By the time we get back from the clinic where a Salarian doctor talked way too much and way too fast but did clear Devon from any serious injury, there’s a crowd where I left the rapist’s body. That’s what I was going for. 

You don’t string someone up by their wrists in public to let them bleed from their broken penis and hope that no one notices. I would be happy to walk by and just get home after a long and fairly disgusting night, but Devon insists that we check out the scene. 

I have to admit it’s nice to see the impact on the crowd here. “You’ll get what you deserve,” someone who looks like a merc mutters, reading the datapad we left with the body. Devon just wanted to leave the message and scare people, but I added in the proof that this asshole raped and murdered people. No one on Omega gave a shit that he was doing that, but they’ll care someone killed him for it. 

“Damn. When’s the last time someone actually stopped a crime on Omega?” someone asks. 

“I’ve lived here my whole life. The answer is never,” another person answers. 

A human in the crowd makes a soft noise. “I guess Omega has an angel.” 

An archangel. A memory comes with less pain and more pride, for once. And then it hits me that I said that out loud with Devon giving me a curious look. 

“Hey, yeah!” the first human chimes in, looking back at me with a surprised smile on his face. “Archangels. They were the warriors, right?” I shrug like I don’t know; I shouldn’t know. No self-respecting Turian has any knowledge of human religious dogma. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Devon says, still smiling at me. “Omega has an Archangel.”


	4. Not Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts/Attempt, Drug Use, Drug Overdose. This chapter is about as dark as it gets.

Devon never really leaves. And I never really ask him to. In a way...it’s kind of nice to have someone around. 

I came here seeking total anonymity. To live out the loneliness that weighs unbearably heavy in my chest. I couldn’t have Shepard, so I wanted no one. Now I realize that I just didn’t want anyone who could see that on me. Who knew her, who knew how she made me, who would force me to think of her. On the Citadel, I was constantly surrounded by Shepard and all the ways I failed her. 

On Omega, I can be new. Even if Devon knows my name, he doesn’t know who Garrus is. And he doesn’t know what Shepard did to Garrus. I have anonymity, and I have...a friend. 

This feels like starting over. A fresh start. A new life without Shepard and without the person she made me. Except that all of a sudden, I’m Omega’s Archangel, and I can’t manage to keep myself away from all the fucking crime around here. 

No one other than Devon knows it’s me stopping burglaries, potential kidnappings, and whatever other bullshit I come across around here. I try to ignore it every time, and every damn time, I think about Shepard’s fondness for my sense of justice. And every single Spirits forsaken time, I can’t help myself. I stop the crime. 

Anonymity. Archangel. A new life, but one still not free of Shepard. Maybe even one that revolves around her more than before. Her Christmas present sits in my closet, and her life purpose drives me, and that woman just will not leave me be. 

It’s nearly enough to choke me. Within a week, more time just sinking further into it, I stop sleeping. It becomes too hard to face my dreams. Those have been full of her for a year now, but when she’s gone and still running my life...my subconscious is too pathetic for me to deal with. 

Devon is my only saving grace most of the time. Sure, his drug habit makes me sick - mostly because I feel like I’m somehow feeding into it by not actively stopping him. But I have no idea how to do that anyway. I can’t keep him safe during detox, I can’t keep him clean. So Devon gets high. And he keeps his...night job. 

But he stays. He’s Archangel’s ear to the ground among the people who know more than anyone else around Omega, and he only ever calls me Archangel now. Well, that and some horrible nickname for it that he’s created, but I choose to ignore that. 

I feel better with Devon around. Less unmoored. There’s obviously something that he’s getting out of it, too, if he chooses to stay with me, but I choose not to question it. We’re both fine for now. 

More than I can say for this punk ass Blue Sun Vorcha who has been literally assaulting women in public - and deliberately choosing women who couldn’t do anything about it. Devon heard about him groping an Asari while she was holding her infant child. Now the Vorcha is very dead, and the women of Omega can rest a little more easily again. 

Archangel. Fuck, I need a drink. 

My apartment is a hell hole, and the building is the hell in which that hole sits, obviously. But I’ve managed to clean the thing thoroughly, and it usually smells pretty good thanks to candles Devon has purchased and placed everywhere. I’ll never admit I like them, of course. 

Tonight, I can smell something sour and burning from the hallway. I nearly gag when I open the door and it hits me like a ton of bricks. “Devon, are you aware of how strong a Turian’s sense of smell is?” I demand, covering my nose with my hand and trying to soak in the smell of the leather on my gloves instead.

No response, and whatever is burning on the stove is making a too-loud sizzling sound. 

“What are you trying to do, burn this place down?” I hold onto my stomach contents and wave smoke away from my eyes on the way to the kitchen. It’s nearly suffocating, all the smoke near the stove, but I manage to shut it off and then throw a pan that is definitely ruined into the sink. And Devon is nowhere to be found. 

Coughing, I check the living area again. He sleeps on the couch, but it’s empty. I learned the hard way when I walked in on him naked that Devon naps in my bed, so I check there as well. Still empty. Why the hell would he leave with something on the stove?

“I swear, if he’s high…” I growl and quickly use my Omni-Tool to call him. He’s one of only three contacts saved in here anymore, which will probably always upset me. Especially considering one of those three people is dead. 

A sharp ringing sound startles me, unexpected and muffled. It’s only then that I realize the bathroom door is closed, and the sound is coming from in there. “Devon?” I call. Walking in on him in the bedroom is bad enough, but the bathroom? No, thanks. I never want to know a human well enough to know how all that works. 

No answer, though. “Devon. What are you doing?” I demand, banging on the door. Nothing. 

And then I start to get worried. Devon is an addict, but he’s not irresponsible or an idiot, and he’s definitely not the type to play a joke like this. “Devon, I’m coming in. Please don’t have your dick out.”

I push the button for the doors to slide open, and the sight inside my bathroom sends my stomach tumbling into my boots. Devon is sprawled out at an odd angle on the tiles, a puddle of green bile mixed with dark blood under his partially open mouth. His skin is an off color, and he’s almost soaking wet in what definitely smells like sweat. The only other smell in the room is red sand. 

Devon overdosed. 

I move for him immediately, pulling him up from the floor and into what would be a sitting position if he weren’t unconscious. He’s covered in vomit and smells worse than the kitchen, but my heightened senses are the least of my worries. He is breathing, but it’s shallow, and his pulse feels barely there. “Don’t you fucking dare, Devon, wake up.” 

He’s all I have now. 

I shake him, smack his face, and get no reaction. He’s too thin; any harder and I could do permanent damage. But I can’t do nothing. 

My heart races and I let Devon slump against me while trying to clear my head; his body is hotter than any Turian I’ve ever felt, and it makes me feel cold inside. I catch sight of his Omni-Tool flashing, and it reminds me I have one other number saved. 

After Devon was injured by the rapist last month, the clinic he went to gave him medicine for the pain. Devon had a weird reaction to it, and he asked me to call and talk to the doctor. I still have the doctor’s number, and I know exactly where the clinic is. It’s not far. 

“I’m gonna get you help, Devon, just hold on.” He weighs next to nothing, so it’s not an effort to pick him up and carry him out, even lock our door and make it down the stairs. No one on Omega bothers to give us more than a glare because of the smell or maybe because we’re interspecies. I don’t care, shoving through crowds and barreling down the station toward the clinic. 

It’s late, so the doors are locked. The only people visible are a few homeless Batarians and Vorcha sleeping outside. But I know the Salarian doctor who runs this place has a reputation; he never stops working, and he should never be fucked with. 

I start kicking the door hard, holding Devon against my chest still, and shout for the doctor. It only takes a small dent in the metal before a Salarian comes running into view, staring at me with his mouth open. 

“Please,” I shout. “He needs help.” My voice cracks, and I can feel something inside me daring to do the same. I can’t lose someone else, not now. Not like this. Not Devon. 

The doctor comes running to the door, finally affording me some kind of relief. He unlocks the door with a code and then steps aside, motioning for me to come in. It feels like forever before he turns to me after locking the door again while I stand like a smacked ass with an unconscious friend. 

“What did he take?” the doctor demands, marching past me and clearly just expecting me to follow. 

“Red sand.” 

“Do you know how much?”

“No, but I know he’s careful. I’ve lived with him for a month, and I’ve never seen him overdo it.” I hate admitting that, especially now. I feel like I enabled him, letting him use at home and not forcing him to get clean or at least making it harder for him. Now this. 

“Are you high?” the doctor asks, leading me into a room and motioning for me to put Devon down on a table. I do so, gently, and then stay close. “Need that,” the doctor says, pointing to a tray of instruments behind me. He doesn’t exactly ask for them, but the message is clear. 

“No, I’m not high,” I answer, pulling the tray over. “I don’t use anything.” 

The doctor looks up at him, pauses for the first time. “Must be new here,” he mutters before going back to Devon. “Need to give med to counter drugs. Here.” He hands me a syringe. “In the thigh.” 

“In the…” I hesitate, pretty sure I’ll screw this up. I’ve never used a syringe on anyone, for any reason. The sight of the doctor standing behind Devon’s head and feeding a tube down his throat while Devon isn’t even reacting makes my stomach churn and gives me the courage to complete my task. It’s simple to use, at least. 

“Will breathe for him. Should work soon.” The doctor speaks in shotgun sentences and super rapidly, but I get the idea. He screws an airbag onto the end of the tube and squeezes, Devon’s chest moving with the air pushing in. “Do this.” 

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, following the order and taking over. 

“Fifth overdose this week,” the doctor tells me. At least, I think he’s talking to me. He walks over to his desk, and I’m not sure he’s actually paying attention to me. He definitely has my interest, though. “More than usual. Drugs laced.” 

“Laced?” I repeat, trying not to squeeze the bag too hard. I look down at Devon, wondering what the hell is coursing through him and who had the balls to give it to him. 

“Poisons. Toxins. Chemicals. Drugs bad enough. Together? Deadly.” 

My throat nearly closes altogether, and I have to hold my breath for a beat before I can speak. “Deadly. Is he gonna die?”

It’s the first time the Salarian looks at me directly when he hears how gruff my voice got. “No. Don’t lose patients. Squeeze!” The doctor is now officially the only person who has ever made me jump at an order. 

I squeeze once, twice, and then again. Before I can squeeze another time, Devon’s body shudders. For a moment, I panic, afraid that it’s the bad kind of shudder. 

And then he coughs. 

Devon coughs, and the doctor rushes over, pulling the tube back out of his throat smoothly. On his own, Devon coughs again. He inhales, then exhales. No more shallow gasps; he’s breathing. All on his own. 

“Worked quickly. Going to be fine.” 

I’m finally back to breathing myself after the doctor’s news, and then Devon’s eyes flutter open slowly. I brush his cheek to get his attention. After a beat, Devon focuses on me. “Archangel,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and words still a little slurred. “Saving the day again.” 

“Who would make terrible food and snore on my couch if I didn’t save your ass, huh?” My heart is thumping hard with relief, and I look up at the doctor, who is taking blood from Devon’s other arm. 

“Needs stomach pumped. Then rest. Should stay here. Tonight, at least.” 

“I can pay,” I tell him. Devon has credits saved, so do I. And Devon has been smart enough to collect from people who have asked Archangel for help. 

“Whore,” Devon rasps out. I manage a laugh and feel gratitude for this pain in the ass human swell inside me. Last week, I was lamenting over greasy dinner out that I hated being a merc, paid for jobs that involved violence. Devon suggested that I think of it as prostitution, instead; after all, I have a lot more respect for sex workers than I do for mercs. 

“The doctor wants you to sleep,” I tell him. He nods and blinks slowly, his eyes seemingly too heavy to open again. “Sleep.” One more cocky little smirk, and then Devon is out. There’s a quick moment of panic like my brain is remembering the last time I saw him passed out. I don’t think I’ll be letting Devon out of my sight for a while. 

“Archangel.” My gaze snaps up to the doctor. “Heard of you. Good work.” He stops moving for the first time, pulls off his latex gloves with a snap, and then extends a hand. “Mordin Solas.” 

The name registers, from Devon and other people here. I accept his greeting, wrapping my hand around his forearm as he does the same. Salarians are larger than humans in general, but I still dwarf his limb. His skin is also almost uncomfortably cool compared to mine. “This is your clinic. I’ve heard of you, too. Good work.” 

“Necessary.” 

“Agreed. Who else would on Omega?”

Mordin watches me for a moment and then nods. “Exactly. No charge. Pay with help.” I release his arm when he lets me go, and Mordin turns away. He moves to a desk, and yanks open a drawer, pulling out a small vial of what I recognize as red sand. “Laced. Deadly. Need to stop it.” 

I don’t need full sentences to know what the doctor wants from me, and it’s a mission we have in common. Someone on Omega is manufacturing and selling laced sand, putting countless lives at risk considering the rate of use on this station. And if the drugs make it off this station, the damage could be devastating. 

Devon stirs, his hand nudging mine. They aren’t similar, but I’ll never be able to look at Devon without thinking of Shepard. That makes this whole thing twice as personal. 

*****

I haven’t been alone in my apartment in a month. From the day I met Devon, he’s been a fixture in my life, and in this shitty hellhole I’m forced to live in on Omega. 

When I first moved in, I hated the place with a passion. The apartment building always smells, ranging from varren shit to someone cooking vile crap, and those smells seep into my apartment. The carpets and walls are stained, the sink in the kitchen drips constantly, and the shower runs barely lukewarm. 

At the very least, Devon has given this place some life. 

And now, I’m here alone. Dr. Solas wanted to observe Devon overnight, and he made it clear that I wasn’t welcome to stay. I didn’t want to be in his way anyway, and Devon needs the rest. But being alone…

I forgot how suffocating four walls can be. 

When I’m busy, I think about how she would react to what I’m doing. When I’m working, I can think about her being there. When I’m alone...all I can think about is the fact that she’s gone. 

I clean up. The kitchen took some damage to the countertops and the air quality from what Devon left on the stove; it’s ruined beyond all recognition now. Whatever it was is a pain in the ass to clean up, but the bathroom is a million times worse. Blood, vomit, drug paraphernalia. None of it grosses me out. It’s the reminder of what happened to Devon that gets to me. 

Someone on Omega is dealing laced drugs. Drugs that have killed people, and could have killed the only person I have left. My friend. 

I keep all of the drugs and shit that I find in the bathroom. Dr. Solas told me that he could tell me what exactly is in it if he had samples. I can take the samples to him. I can get whoever is doing this and put an end to it. 

But right now, alone in this apartment and haunted by people who are not here...I can’t give a fuck.

I don’t want to be Archangel. I don’t want to find this dealer, I don’t want to find anyone else overdosing in a bathroom ever again. I don’t want any of it. 

All I want is Shepard. 

The dog tags feel extra cold around my neck in the shower, and they stay cold when I get in bed, but I can’t take them off. I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s all I have left. 

Except…

Shepard’s Christmas present is still in my closet, still sitting in the now-empty bag that I brought with me. I didn’t have room for it - I had to leave my only spare pair of boots behind - but it didn’t feel right not to keep it with me. And maybe now I know why. 

It takes me a minute to figure out how to load it. It’s what the gun shop owner called a revolver, a classic human style from Earth, even though it still uses a heat sink for compatibility. A hybrid. There’s no doubt in my mind this would have been the perfect gift, the perfect gun for her. 

She’ll never use it. But if I do, I could finally finally get rid of all this fucking pain. 

The calm that washes over me when I hold the gun, fully loaded, is terrifying. I’ve never felt anything like it before. For a moment, when I consider what the gun could give me, the numbness and the pain in my chest both fade. And that should be comforting.

Except that in that same moment, the dark little cloud that’s been at the back of my mind since the funeral storms and surges, overwhelming me. It feels like my mind is trying to drown me, a sandstorm of memories and emotions hitting me. But they’re warped, all of them. Moments that I know were happy feel wrong, even the sad ones are broken. 

That cloud wants me to die. And it makes me want to die. The solution is right in my hand. And then it’s in my mouth, the metal bitter and cold on my tongue.

My body succumbs to the storm before the rest of me. I can’t hold myself up any longer. My knees give out, and I hit the floor, falling over the gun, and I throw up over and over until I can’t breathe and my throat is raw. The gun never leaves my hand; it’s like I physically can’t put it down. 

My arms give after what feels like forever, and I collapse onto my forearms. A clink, metal on metal, echoes through the room and reverberates through me. It repeats slowly, rhythmically. The tags. Shepard’s tags, swinging from my neck and hitting the gun. 

Shepard. 

A bitter laugh escapes me. “If you could see me now, Kid.” 

I would bring her such shame like this. And I worked so hard to make her proud, to make her like what she saw when she looked at me. We never had any compatibility issues in the field. She trusted me. This would be betraying her. 

I still can’t let the gun go far. The pain in my chest gets too bad when I try to part from it. So I put it on the table beside my bed, and I lay down facing it. 

My escape is there, it’s right there. When I want it, when I need it...I’ll have it. But I have to be ready to disappoint Shepard first. And that’s a fate worse than living.


	5. New Growth

Devon gets home two days later. It takes another full day for me to get him to look at me, and more than a week before he can look me in the eye without looking like he’ll lose it. He feels immense guilt and shame. And he deserves none of that. 

I can only say it so many times. So I stop saying it and do what I can to be as normal as possible with him. I make him promise only to get drugs from sources that Dr. Solas says are safe, and it’s something of a relief to me that the doctor has those. When I ask him if I should force Devon to detox and get clean, he told me to meet people where they’re at. I’ll keep Devon alive, and Devon will do the best he can. That’s it. 

I make Devon recreate the dinner he destroyed, too. I think he likes that. And once he’s stronger, he sets about trying to help me identify the person he bought the drugs from on some of the camera footage I’ve hacked around the station. It’s long work and not particularly gratifying, but we get a few screen grabs. 

At first, I try walking the streets and asking people if they know the dealer I’m looking for, either by face or name though Devon only knows the Batarian as “the Captain.” I realize pretty quickly that’s not going to work out. I’m intimidating as fuck, almost seven feet tall and carrying a big ass rifle. Call it a character flaw, but I’m not walking around on Omega unarmed. The other option is to take Devon with me to do the talking. 

He’s willing, though we have to wait a couple more days than either of us would like for Devon to get his strength back. Neither of us wants to be trapped in the apartment while he’s recovering either, but it’s much easier when I’m not alone. Devon breathes life into the place; it’s his snarky, mildly unhinged, flamboyant sort of life, but it grows on me. 

And he doesn’t call me out for the revolver. I haven’t put it away yet. Some nights it gets into the drawer on the table. At least once I fell asleep cradling it. He knows. I can tell by the way he’s started watching me, hovering almost. He knows. But he doesn’t say anything. And I’m grateful. 

Maybe I’ll put it away when this is over, or when I can feel more secure that Devon won’t get a bad batch again by accident. Until then...we don’t talk about the revolver as long as it’s not smoking. 

“You need to get laid,” he announces randomly while I’m just trying to pour some coffee. 

“We’re not having sex, and I thought we were past that.” Devon just laughs at the glare I give him when I turn around; he’s definitely the only person who could get away with that. 

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” He laughs harder at the fact I make at that. “OK, fine, I do. I mean, look at your fine ass.” He makes a vulgar noise and shakes his head at me. “But seriously. You’re a Turian. You guys aren’t meant to go a long time without sex, and you at least haven’t gotten laid since we met. It might help...ya know, with everything.” 

“Smooth. I’m fine.” That doesn’t make him laugh. I’d really like to go back to pretending neither of us knows about the gun, but if Devon is anything like the other humans I know...they aren’t inclined to let things slide. 

“You’re not. Dude, you aren’t even jerking off.” I drop my fork, letting it clatter to the plate, and glare at him across the table. Devon doesn’t back down. “I have a sixth sense about these things; I would know if you were getting any - even from yourself.” 

I scoff at him. “I don’t care if you know, I’m only concerned about why in the galaxy you care if I’m getting any? With myself or with anyone else.” 

“I told you. You’re Turian; I know how you guys operate, and I don’t want you blowing up on me because your little soldiers get antsy.” 

“You should be so lucky as to have my soldiers blow anywhere near you.” Devon throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh at that; it’s the hardest I’ve ever heard him laugh. I hate that it makes me smile a little, too. 

“OK, but seriously. We may have an obvious solution to your little problem. Well, I’m actually hoping you’re larger than average everywhere, but ya know.” He smirks, obviously proud of himself. “Aaaand I think we can combine it with Archangel’s newest mission.” 

“Fine. You win. I’m listening.” 

“I met the Captain at Purgatory a few times. He has a private room in the back. We might be able to meet him there, or at least learn more.” That’s...actually a good plan. It’s helpful as well. Of course, Devon has to ruin his success immediately. “And you can find someone to score with there!” 

I roll my eyes and get up from the table, done with this conversation entirely. The idea of getting laid doesn’t feel good anymore, and I’m not about to try and figure out why with Devon. 

“Hey, there are humans at Purgatory.” 

I turn back to him with a frown. “What does that have to do with anything? The Captain isn’t human.” 

“Well, no, but...your, uh, person was a human, right? I just figured you were into them.” 

That actually makes me laugh. “I’m not into humans. Not at all, actually. She was an outlier, and that’s only because she was - “ I cut myself off before saying too much, even though I can feel my neck heating. And of course, Devon can recognize a blush in a Turian. 

“Shit, dude. You’ve seen me half-dead, and you won’t even tell me about your ex.” 

I start to argue that Shepard isn’t my ex. Wasn’t. Whatever. Being dead doesn’t me we weren’t...us. But then I remember that we actually weren’t. She dumped me and then died. 

Shepard is my ex. I lost her twice.

“Getting a shower. I’ll see you later for the club.” 

“No, no, wait,” Devon protests jumping up from the table to get in my way, his hands up. “I’m sorry, I won’t push anymore. I know it hurts you.” 

“It doesn’t - “ 

“Dude. Stop. I know.” 

I can feel my blood starting to boil, and I clench my hands, trying not to snap at him. Devon is my only friend. “You don’t know shit and don’t fucking look at me like that. Just drop it, Devon. I’ll be ready for the club.” 

Guilt blooms in my chest before I get as far as the bedroom. He didn’t deserve that. He’s just trying to help, and he’s been good to me so far. Devon gives a shit about me when I have literally no one and nothing else. But talking about Shepard or that damn look of pity in his eye...I can’t handle that. 

What I can handle is taking down the asshole selling tainted drugs on this station, the one who almost killed my friend. Archangel doesn’t have pain, he’s not heartbroken and pathetic. Archangel has a mission, and that I can handle. 

*****

I hate Afterlife. It is exactly the kind of club I would expect on Omega, complete with open drug use, open prostitution, and people of far too many species openly hitting on me. Devon enjoys the hell out of that and doesn’t pretend not to. 

It was also a great idea to come here, and he’s gloating about that well into the next day. We got leads, I got more cameras hacked, and we’re right on the cusp of identifying the Captain. More than that, with a few well-timed returned trip to Afterlife, we’re able to identify several members of the Captain’s squad. All of them are high-ranking Blue Suns. 

And I’m going to take every damn one of them out. 

Dr. Solas has told us about several more deaths from the tainted red sand. The only benefit to that is Devon has slowed down how much he’s using. But people are dying, and it’s time to cut this operation off at the legs. The only thing that’s bothering me is that I don’t know why the Captain and the Blue Suns are doing this. Why kill their customers?

“Who was the third?” I ask Devon, motioning toward the files I’ve put together. He makes fun of me for cop habits but he can bite me. I was a damn good detective, and now I’m not trapped by all the red tape that came with C-Sec; the assholes on Omega won’t know what hit ‘em. 

“Mmm...the brunette.” He rolls his eyes and clarifies, “Brown hair,” when I frown at him. “Didn’t you have a human?”

“Redhead.” I reach for the picture of the victim in question and line it up with the others in order. There are no redheads here; Shepard said it was rare. My fingers drift to the dog tags sitting against my chest, under my shirt. I press the cool metal against me, soaking it in. 

“Wow.” I turn to look back at Devon, giving him yet another frown. “You realize that’s by far the most you’ve ever told me about her, right? And you just put it out there, all casual!” 

“It was a mistake,” I tell him, turning back to the table and hoping that I can control the blush on my throat. I never meant to give anything about her away. If Devon knows about Shepard, she’s part of this world. And she can’t see me like this. 

It’s bad enough that she haunts my dreams, that she acts as my perpetually disappointed moral conscious. I light another cigarette and hope the burn in my chest can push her out. 

“OK, OK. Sorry.” Devon pats my shoulder and shifts to sit beside me instead of lounging behind me. “I just got excited you were...I don’t know, opening up. Or some bullshit like that. Whatever. Let’s find a drug dealer for you to kill.” 

That doesn’t ease the pain either. I take a breath - one without cigarette smoke for once. “It’s just too hard still. It’s not you.” 

“You can blow me later to make up for it.” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do my best not to eviscerate your dick.” 

“I appreciate that. So, what are we doing?” 

I take a breath and refocus. “We’re trying to figure out what we can learn about the dealers through the victims. If we can learn where the Suns are operating from, we can end them. And the answer might be here.” 

“You mean, like if they all live in the same ward?” He picks up his own file and adds, “Well...if we all live in the same ward?”

“Exactly. You said you only know this one, right? The first one?” 

Devon nods. “Yeah, but I knew her as Ruby - you learned her real name. She worked the Overpass.” 

“But none of the others?” 

“Nope, and none of my friends at other stations recognized them. I don’t think they were working the streets.” Of course not. That would have been too easy. Devon scoffs and adds, “I don’t even know if there are this many human hookers on the whole station. We’re a fetish.” 

“Ew, stop.” I know he’s right, of course. There are a lot of Turians who would believe my interest in a human - even if it was just the one human - was purely a fetish. We can overlook a little kink; genuine interest in a human would be weird. 

It’s good information, though. These humans weren’t all hookers. 

Wait. 

“They’re all human. The Captain is targeting humans.” 

I startle when Devon draws a sharp, high-pitched gasp and starts smacking my arm. “Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” He cradles his arm to his chest, still bouncing on the couch, and changes the chant to, “Oh, shit, your arm is hard.” 

“What the hell is happening to you? Should I call the doctor?” 

“No, shut up! Listen. The Captain, right? I used to buy from someone else before him, but I got a sample of his shit and wanted to switch.” 

I roll my eyes. “Shopping around, smart. Gotta get the best deal.” 

“OK, judge me later, I’m helping.” He turns toward me, pulling one leg up between us on the couch. “I wanted to switch to the Captain’s supply, and I talked to another guy with the Blue Suns. He told me that the Captain hates humans, that I’d never be able to get drugs from him.” 

He pauses, and I give him a look. “And? You said he’s your supplier, so obviously you got around him.” 

“Oh, I did. I was told there was one way and only one.” He puts his hand on my thigh. “There is one guy with the Blue Suns who deals sand to humans. It’s the Captain’s supply, but they funnel all the humans through him.” 

“So that they can take out only humans and not threaten the rest of their customers. They get to exercise their xenophobia without threatening their cash supply.” 

“And when humans complain about things happening to them on Omega, we aren’t exactly heard. But if they were killing other aliens, it would be a huge deal.” 

I nod, remembering that pattern happening with a few other crimes here. Humans are a minority and not a popular one on Omega, maybe even more so than the rest of the Milky Way galaxy. I’m grateful once again for Dr. Solas; if he shared that hatred, I never would have known about any of this. 

Devon would probably be dead. 

I shake that thought off and focus. "OK. So there is someone in the Blue Suns dealing tainted red sand, and it has to be the only one who will deal to humans. But we don't know how far up the chain that goes." 

"Does it matter?" I give Devon a look and he scoffs, leaning across me to snag one of my cigarettes. "Come on, Archangel, don't act oblivious to all the crap that goes on here. The Blue Suns are responsible for at least a third of it - along with the Blood Pack and Eclipse. And drugs are most of what the Suns do, along with smuggling." 

"Yeah, I got acquainted with that part of their operations my first day here." I'll never forget Melody's face and I wonder where she is now. That might have been a good reason to keep in touch with those Turians that asked me to work with them, but it's not good enough to potentially get pestered into working with them. 

Devon has a point now, though. Who cares if other members of some shady ass Omega gang get caught in the way when I take down the one killing humans? None of them is innocent, none of them are good. Every member of the Blue Suns deserves the justice they'll find at the end of my rifle. That goes for the Blood Pack and Eclipse, too. 

"OK. So we lure this guy, I trail him to wherever he does business out of, and I take down the entire ring - from the Captain down." Now Devon gives me the look, eyebrows raised. "I want it done, all of them." 

"You know there will only be more after them, though, right? I mean...it's Omega." 

I exhale, letting go of the tension that has the potential to create. "Yeah, well. Maybe someday I'll handle that. For now, taking down this ring will have to be good enough. And you'll have to get your sand somewhere else." 

"Probably worth it if I don't end up dead." 

"Hey, that's the spirit! Now, you should get some rest. Tomorrow, you play bait again." 

Devon scowls and elbows me; it's gentle enough for me to know that it's playful. "You couldn't do any of this without me." When I scoff he laughs a little. "OK, fine, maybe you could. But definitely not with as much style." 

*****

Neither of us is nearly as nervous this time Devon plays bait for one of our mission. He's bought drugs even more times than he's hooked up with a customer, and it's damn unlikely that this bait play is going to result in him getting attacked by a known rapist and murderer. This time, his only complaint is that he can't keep the drugs he purchases with his own money.

Not that Devon complains about fronting the credits. He's the only one of us who actually has a day job. Well...night job. Whatever. I have to focus.   
The best thing about a station built like Omega, literally developed into the hollowed-out center of a dead star, is that it’s built with a lot of weird infrastructure. That includes catwalks absolutely everywhere; if you know how to get out and in, you can get anywhere on this station without being seen. 

It occurs to me that if I keep using these tunnels for work, I should probably install cameras in the infrastructure so that I know if there's any chance of running into someone else. It's usually just the occasional vagrant or a couple who couldn't wait to get home to get naked. Or a threesome in the case of the people I have to literally step over tonight. I try not to gag at the sight of Salarian ass with an Asari tongue in it. Yep, definitely getting cameras up in here. 

The Blue Suns dealer that Devon got his drugs from is a Vorcha, which makes him behave like a Vorcha. The guy has zero cares in the world about who is around him and who is watching. He also didn't bother to count the cash from Devon; they aren't known for math skills. Vorcha pride themselves on being chaotic and animalistic, primal even. That's their words, anyway. The reality is that they're gross, vicious, shifty, and dangerous. The Suns working with Vorcha is a clear signal of their integrity and intent. I hate this guy at a glance, but at least it makes tracking him easy. 

I nearly shoot him on the street when the Vorcha stops to pick up a hooker. The Asari has the grace to look immensely disturbed, but from what I can hear, he pays almost double the going rate. And I barely find time to sit down and wait for them to be finished before...well, before that Vorcha is finished. If that Asari makes several hundred dollars for less than two minutes of work consistently, I need to be her friend. 

That's the last stop he makes, and then I'm certain the Vorcha is headed home by the change in his body language. The crowds thin and he picks now to get shifty, moving closer to the shadows. I almost miss the door that he slips through just outside a ship parts repair stand, and then figuring out how to get inside myself without actually walking through the front door nearly trips me up. It's weird Omega infrastructure that comes to my rescue again. 

Instead of going around the station, I go up. And on the catwalks, I can get into the crawlspace above the store before hacking through a door silently. The Vorcha is there, sitting around a table with two Batarians and another Vorcha. And I recognize one of them by the insignia I've been hunting via camera. The Captain. 

Not just that, but this room is where they prepare their supplies. In what used to be a warehouse, there are multiple tables lined against the wall with paraphernalia and equipment to cook, prepare, and divide drugs. Several Asari, all of them naked, are working the tables. The lack of clothing is a sign that they aren’t part of the Blue Suns, not more than this specific job to make their sand. That means now have at least a dozen innocent bystanders. 

So much for the ‘blow it all to hell’ plan that comes to mind every single time I think about how Devon looked on my bathroom floor. 

And then, before I can go through with any plan at all, something happens. Everything changes. There’s a pop, like aluminum exploding, and then one of the Asari screams before flames erupt at one of the tables. 

The table directly below the vent that spends right into the catwalk. 

In an instant, I’m no longer in control of this mission. I have two choices: I can either get very high on a potentially lethal supply of red sand as that smoke fills this catwalk, or I can leave and risk losing this chance - meaning some other human could die tomorrow. Of course, even if I stay, there’s a chance I won’t be successful. I’m a damn good shot, but shooting high is a bit of a challenge. 

I need a way to get down into the warehouse, away from the smoke, but without losing the Captain and whichever one of these Vorcha is poisoning humans on purpose. There’s a vent that will drop me into the warehouse but into the center of the room...and with four Blue Suns holding automatic rifles. 

The moment the thought crosses my mind, everything changes again. This time, the pop is a lot louder. And this time, it works entirely in my favor, sending all of the Blue Suns running toward the sound at the back of the warehouse. 

With their guns sitting on the table. 

Part of me just knows that there’s a catch to this; the universe has never been this kind to me. The rest of me doesn’t care at all. 

My boots hit the floor, and I quickly turn to the Asari, who are scrambling. “Can you get out of here without going through the back?”

One nods and takes charge, grabbing the others and pulling them away to safety. And that’s my last obstacle. Now I can get to work. 

I head for the back of the warehouse, moving silently, and slip between two rows of crates. A glance inside one tells me that they’re full of bags for distribution. I’ll deal with how to destroy these later - and I’ll never tell Devon they exist. 

One of the Vorcha comes back toward me in a rush. I can’t tell if he’s the one I followed, and I don’t care. It doesn’t really matter; all that counts is the sound of his cervical spine popping when I snap it. That’s one down, and I no longer feel the need to be quiet. 

When the other Vorcha’s head explodes from behind, his brain matter and blood end up all over the Captain’s face. I leave him standing there with his mouth open like a smacked ass while I disperse of his Batarian buddy. 

The Captain reaches for his gun, and all four of his eyes go blank when the little son of a bitch realizes that he’s unarmed. “Alright, alright!” he shouts, holding his hands up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You think Cathka will let you get away with this?”

“I could give a fuck less if this rifle up your ass bothers your boyfriend.” I move toward him slowly, enjoying the terror he’s trying to hide desperately behind a cocky glare. “Do you wanna pretend that you don’t know what your rabid Vorcha has been doing, or would you care to go out honest?”

“What the fuck do you care?” he spits. “Turian like you should be thanking him for that. The less we have to look at those ugly creatures, the better.” 

A laugh escapes me, and I think the Captain can tell that its pity, not humor. 

“You know what? Just do it. Come on, tough guy, kill me!” Fear cracks his voice. It’s definitely an interesting way to try and stop me. Reverse psychology? Moron. 

“I’m not going to make this that easy for you,” I tell him, leaning against a crate and fiddling with my scope that does not need to be fiddled with. “See, your little pet over there nearly killed a friend of mine. Slowly and painfully. So now I’m going to return the favor.” I don’t have to aim to shoot him in the knee, and I don’t bother to hide a smile when he collapses, screaming and clutching his leg. “I want you to know what a slow death feels like. But more importantly than that,” I stand and shoot him in the other kneecap, “I want your little friends to come in here and find you.” 

I kneel down, resting my hand on his knee and reveling in the way he screams. “I want you to tell your friends that Archangel is coming for them. For every single one of you. Look at me.” I grab his face and look into glossy eyes, death calling for him. 

“I’m going to destroy you.” The gunshot that penetrates his stomach echoes through the warehouse and drowns out his scream. “Archangel.” I pat his cheek before standing and add, “Don’t forget.” And then I leave him, closing the mask on my helmet to use the air filter built in; I don’t prefer it, but I don’t want to get high either. And the mask is necessary if Archangel is going to remain anonymous. 

“Archangel?” Anonymous, but quickly becoming familiar. I’m not sure whether or not that’s a good thing yet, but I turn toward the voice. I also pull my rifle into my hands since I have no idea who else could be in the catwalks right here and right now; it’s all just far too convenient. 

The Batarian behind me set off that bomb at the end of the warehouse, the distraction I needed. I know it in an instant. I just need to know why. 

“What are you doing here?” 

It doesn’t seem to surprise or bother him that’s my first question. “Same thing you are. Although...I’ll admit you did it with a style I would have lacked. When I saw the Asari, I didn’t know how to continue. There’s enough C4 in those crates to flatten the whole warehouse but I couldn’t - “ 

“Wait, what? You were going to blow it?”

He nods once, short and sharp. “A friend of mine died last week. Tainted sand. I knew who he bought from, so I trailed them and was going to send it all up in flames. Or, well, smoke. Red sand doesn’t flame so much as it does smoke. As you can probably tell by now.” 

“You set off that bomb for me.” 

It’s not a question, but he nods again. And of course he talks. I can tell this guy likes to talk. “I was up here, trying to figure out a plan B, when I saw you. When you glanced at the vent, I got your idea and set a new charge that wouldn’t trigger all the C4. And then I waited. And watched. You’re really impressive. I’ve heard about Archangel but to see you in action? Oh and that whole speech you gave the Captain. That was - “ 

“You got a charge set, primed, and ready in the seconds between seeing me glance at the vent and when it went off?” This time, he only nods. “Special forces?” The Batarian Hegemony doesn’t have any official status because they caused too much trouble with the Council - namely in operations like the one on Mindoir - and technically their special forces don’t exist. 

He cocks his head. “You know I can’t answer that.” And that’s really all the answer I need. He steps closer and holds out his hand. “I’m not associated with any government, though. No one on Omega is. But I heard what you said to the Captain, about taking them all down. If you meant it, if you’re up for taking down the drug rings on Omega, I want in. I’m Dhelem.” 

I look at his hand, a thousand excuses running through my mind. Most of them just involve not wanting anyone else around, no one else relying on me or to rely on. But Dhelem is useful, that much is clear. “I live and work with a human. Problem for you?” 

He smirks. “Yeah, all Batarians hate humans. Just like Turians, right?” 

And he’s pithy. Fine. 

I take his hand and then freeze, totally unsure of how to introduce myself. I don’t give my real name; Devon doesn’t even use it. Dhelem smiles again and offers, “Archangel. Got it.”


	6. Truths & Teammates

Archangel is a word that gets said much more often after that night. At first, the Blue Suns put out a bounty on my head. A handful of mercs try it, and when their bodies end up in well-known drug dens, the Suns quit on that. They do ramp up their defenses and bring more people onto Omega from Spirits know where. It doesn’t matter; every time they have a major operation, we intercept it, and more Blue Sun blood is spilled.

And we know every time they have a major operation because the people on Omega - the ones who aren’t in gangs and who may be on drugs but who don’t want to see people dying for them - have been waiting for a way to show gangs like the Blue Suns who runs Omega. They whisper information to street workers which gets back to Devon, they post anonymous details about operations or even individual gang members, they stop paying the Suns for protection. And even though we don’t ask for it and I would never dream of shaking someone down for protection payment...they pay.

It’s not a lot. It’s not enough considering the ammo, armor repairs, and explosives we often need. But it’s something. It makes Devon and Dhelem feel more legit. It makes me feel like a mercenary; I haven’t decided yet how I feel about that. All I know is that Archangel has a mission here, and on the nights when we’re planning or working, I don’t feel Shepard’s presence as heavily.

It’s never gone, though. I don’t know how I feel about that yet either.

I do know that I like keeping a scumbag gang on the run. And I like having Dhelem and Devon around, too. Even on the nights when Devon is working, something he’s still doing both for the money and because - as he told me in no uncertain terms - he enjoys it, I’m not alone. And something tells me that Devon told Dhelem not to leave me alone. Either that or Dhelem is every bit as lonely and messy as I am.

He's also far too convincing and ends up talking me into going to a bar. I knew immediately that it was a bad idea, but the alternative - staring at that fucking gun with the walls closing in around me - was just too painful. And too pathetic, to be honest. Once we get into Afterlife, though, I wonder if the gun wouldn't be a better alternative. 

Afterlife is as hormonal and sex-driven as clubs come. It's not technically a strip club and yet has more naked and mostly naked people than any strip club I have ever been in. Ever. It almost makes me smile when I think about my friends from the Normandy here. Joker would be in heaven, Tali would be drunk in moments, Liara would be appalled, and Shepard...

I want to think that Shepard would be all over me. Spirits, I want to think about that. Although thinking about it in public might be dangerous; this is by far the longest I've ever gone without sex, and I'm not going to take much to end up with a raging erection. The truth is more than enough to get my dick soft again, though. 

Even if she were alive, we wouldn't be together. 

I'm the idiot who bonded with a human and let her walk away. And I'm the pitiful Turian sulking in the corner of a club that oozes sex, unable and unwilling to build any interest for anyone else. It might be as simple as a single thought for me to get it up with Shepard on my mind, but for someone else? It's hard to even imagine at this point. The woman I'm meant to be with is dead; why would I waste the energy my dick requires on someone else. 

"Damn, could you possibly look more miserable?" Dhelem asks, laughing into his beer. "Devon said you desperately needed to get laid, and I think he might actually have undersold it." 

"Don't you start with that too," I groan, wishing I had ordered something a lot stronger than this ale. "I do not need to get laid. Nor do I want to get laid."   
Dhelem nearly chokes on his drink, blinking at me with eyes blown wide. "You're a Turian. It's biologically impossible that you don't want to get laid." 

"There are asexual Turians, thank you very much." 

"Oh, you're asexual?"

I can't answer that. I'm not into lying to my teammates, I'm definitely not into lying about my sexuality, and I'm not drunk enough to just tell him off. Dhelem takes my silence as an answer and chuckles, shaking his head at me. 

"You already have attention from at least a couple Asari and that Turian guy at the bar. Unless you're asexual and straight?"

I scowl at him. "Neither, if you must know. But still very much uninterested." 

"Devon said he thought you might be into humans, but I didn't think that was exclusive." 

That one, I almost laugh at. "It's not exclusive. Actually, it might be the opposite. There was one human, and only one. Never found another attractive." 

"Hmm." Dhelem slams down the rest of his beer, belches, and then surprises me again when he announces, "They are super bendy. And wet. It's nice." I look over at him in shock, and there's a moment where we just stare at one another. I'm trying to figure out if he's screwing with me, and I think he's trying to decide whether I'm going to freak out. Instead, the alcohol hits at the right moment and we explode in laughter. 

It's amazing, the way laughter can lift a weight. It's just as amazing how quickly it comes back after, though. There's always guilt, anytime I manage to smile or relax or laugh or...breathe. I know Shepard would find that ridiculous, punishing myself for even moments of happiness when she can't, but that doesn't mean I can stop. My emotions aren't logical, and they didn't exactly teach us how to deal with this shit when I was in military school. 

Dhelem shifts beside me, catching my attention. I wish I hadn't looked when I realize that he's adjusting himself because he's got a situation growing in his pants. I follow his gaze to an Asari who is just as interested in him and making her own interest clear, running her hands her breasts right at the bar. Afterlife is definitely a special sort of place. 

Dhelem gives me a quick glance that looks almost embarrassed, then clears his throat and lifts his beer for a gulp. He frowns when he finds it empty, and I can't help but laugh. 

"Just go," I tell him, motioning toward the Asari. 

"Man, she has friends. Look!" I do and I immediately regret it. The Asari watching Dhelem does indeed have friends, and they're both staring at me. While touching each other. There's a Turian a few seats down from them at the bar who is moments from busting right out of his pants. And I can't even get a stirring in my cock. 

"No, thanks. But you go have fun. Really." 

Dhelem takes a deep breath and watches me for a moment. I don't know if he could read my expression or subtones to know the difference, but I school my face anyway. "Devon will be - " 

"I do not need a babysitter." 

"Fine, but brother, you do need an orgasm." Dhelem stands, not bothering to hide his erection. "Go home and at least rub one out, would you? It'll ease Devon's concerns about you." 

"I'm sorry, you want me to jerk off in pity for Devon?"

Dhelem barks out a laugh and leans over the table, grabbing my beer and downing it. "I'll bring breakfast over in the morning." 

"Shower first." He smiles at me, and then turns away to go after his conquest. Not that he has to do a lot of questing; she practically throws herself at him. But it's good for him. The guy does good work. If this is his bonus, he's earned it. 

I can't stay at the bar alone. It doesn't just make me a target, but it just feels too damn sad. All I want to do is go home, drink enough to sleep, and pass out until the morning. I buy another bottle on my way out; the amount it takes to sleep seems to be getting larger by the day. I'm not about to dissect that, though. As long as I can actually manage sleep, who cares?

The one person who might care is already on the couch when I get home. I thank the spirits quickly that he's not jerking off, and that I hadn't gotten home early and taken Dhelem's advice. That's a level of intimacy Devon and I do not need to reach. 

"You're home early." 

"I could say the same to you," he replies, turning to pull his legs closer and make room for me. "I had a client pay a shit ton more than he needed to; first-timer, got all emotional. Decided to take the rest of the night off. You?"

"Dhelem made new friends. Decided to get out of there before anyone else tried to make friends with me." 

Devon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, those friends are such a damn pesky thing. Are you ever gonna tell me honestly why you refuse to just get some?" Before I can tell him off for that, he adds, "Or why you won't talk to someone about her? I mean, at least me. We both know I'm special as fuck." 

I appreciate that he's managed to make me laugh. I also crack open the bottle and drink right from it. It's necessary if we're going here. Not that I've decided that's what happening. "The answer to both of those questions is the same." 

"Ooh, cryptic. I like it." He laughs when I shoot him a glare before I go back to drinking. It barely burns at all after the first few gulps. "Do you tell the bottle your secrets in the morning?" 

"Yes. And it never asks questions." 

"I wouldn't ask questions if you talked to me." 

"What if I don't want to talk to you?"

Devon cocks his head to the side. "What if I don't want to watch you start drowning every night because you won't talk?" 

"Oh, let's go there. What if I don't want to watch you stay addicted to the drug that almost killed you?" I retort, standing up because I want to get the hell away from him. Or at least away from this conversation. "You quit, I'll talk. How's about that?" 

"Wow, you can be a real asshole, you know that? Maybe whoever she was, she dumped your ass." 

My stomach bottoms out so quickly, so violently that I very nearly lose every ounce of alcohol I've already sucked down tonight. Now I need to get away from him. "I'm going to bed." 

"No, wait! I'm sorry," Devon calls, scrambling over the back of the couch to cross into my path. "That was mean, I know. I'm sorry. You know I just worry about you, Archie." 

"Spirits, that nickname makes me want to shoot you instead of myself." He barks out a laugh and it immediately eases some of the tension in my chest. I can't stay pissed off at him, even if he says things that break my heart. "If I answer those questions you asked...you have to promise to stop pushing me to hook up. With anyone. Deal?"

Devon considers it for a split second and then responds, "Deal." 

"I..." My throat tightens like my body doesn't want to let the words out. It'll be the first time I say it out loud. That's going to make it real. It doesn't die whether or not I say it, though. This is always going to be my truth. "I bonded with her. And she did dump me. Then she died before she...before either of us realized it. I never told her." 

"Bonded, like...like the permanent thing?" I move the bottle to my mouth for another drink to answer that, but Devon cuts me off by throwing himself at me, his arms flying around my shoulders. For once, the guy doesn't say a word. He doesn't do or say anything. He just stands there...hugging me.   
And it's the first time in months anyone has held me at all. 

"I'm sorry," he breathes, only releasing me enough to look up at me. The pity in his eyes is nearly heavy enough to break me. I try to look away from it but Devon catches my face with both hands and pulls me to look back at him. “I knew you were hurting, but...I’m sorry. You...you thought I was going to leave you.”

The overdose. Now he gets it.

A tear tracks down his cheek, shredding through me on its path. I remember the pity that I received from just about everyone on the Citadel after Shepard died. They all knew how much she meant to me, and she never did. Or worse, maybe she did and just...didn't care. A shuddering breath wracks through me, and Devon winces. "Look, I - " 

"Wait, listen," he protests, letting me step away but dropping his hands to catch mine. "I know Turians are no good with emotions and whatever, and I know it probably annoys the shit out of you that I can't just hear your subtones. But we both know I've seen it. The gun." 

"I'm not..." I shake my head when the words fail. I wish I was a liar. 

Devon steps closer again. "Dude. I just want you to know that I get it. I've been there. Not the same reason, but...there." I search his eyes and know he's being honest. "I'm human, gay, and on a derelict alien station. Is it surprising?"

I don't know if anyone else could make me laugh right now.

"I don't wanna do it." 

"I know. Can you just do me one favor?" I nod, mostly because he looks so damn earnest at the moment. "Just...remember that you're only alone if you don't ask for help. Or at least tell me that you need me. Or whatever macho bullshit Turians need to use to get a fucking hug." 

"It's not macho bullshit," I argue, rolling my eyes. "Turian women are actually even worse at emotions than men, believe me." 

Devon laughs at that and takes a moment to wipe his eyes and cheeks. I can't remember the last time someone cried for me. Or...if they ever have. Shepard didn't even cry when she left. Of course, neither did I. And no one saw me when she died. Devon isn't going to see it either. I haven't fallen that far yet. No, I just sleep next to a gun I fantasize about putting in my mouth and cry alone over her dog tags. That's better...

I take a breath and say the second hardest thing I've had to. "I...I promise. I'll remember I'm not alone. OK?" 

"Yes. And I promise to stop trying to get you to hookup...even though I still think you could benefit from choking the chicken every once in a while." 

"Choking the...what? And why would I choke it?"

"Oh, idiom." I have fight not to wince; he sounds so much like Shepard sometimes. "It's a euphemism for jerking off. Choking, I guess because you squeeze? And chickens, well...here." He types a bit on his Omni-Tool and then shows me the picture of an extremely odd winged creature. 

"Spirits, is that what a human penis looks like?" I demand, forced to step away from the human man in front of me at the thought he could have that in his pants. "Tell me you don't have feathers. Or that shape!" 

"No, God! I...actually I have no idea why chicken was chosen," he confesses, frowning at the picture. "And actually, human and Turian penises look pretty similar. Ours are pink, of course. And smaller in general." 

"But no feathers?" He scowls at me, and I can't help laughing. "OK, OK. I have no intentions of choking chickens or my dick, but your concern is noted. Can that just be enough for now?"

Devon practically beams at me. "More than enough. Thank you." He skips back to the couch and leaps over the back, making himself comfortable again. I shake my head at him, completely drained, and then head for the shower. I want to just collapse in bed, but after the club, I feel a need for hot water and scrubbing. Just having people look at me that way feels dirty anymore. 

I take off Shepard's dog tags and set them on the sink. The light catches the silver, and I'm drawn to examine them for the first time in a while. The sight of her name with an Alliance rank sets a heat in my chest. They betrayed her, abandoned all the work that she did. Even now, the Reapers are out there threatening all of our lives, and they've made stopping them impossible just to save face. The Council is no better; hell, they never even gave Shepard her Spectre tags before she died. 

They'll hail her as a hero and let her death mean nothing at all. 

I have to put down her tags before I destroy them by accident, the anger slowly simmering in my blood and building in my gut. And then that anger continues to slide lower, pissed off and turned on closely related in a Turian. My dick stirring is almost foreign to me now after months of no attention, no interest at all. I don't even get hard in shootouts. 

As much as I hate to ever admit that Devon could be right...it's unnatural for me to go this long entirely without. 

Shepard would never let me live this down. She would be ruthless about it, too. I'm certain the humans have a few nonsense idioms and foolish words for this. Her verbal jabbing was nearly better than the physical, and they both turned me on. 

I lock the door and then step into the shower, letting scalding hot water pour over me. I try to ignore it. Sort of. Not really. The thing isn't all that easy to ignore. Especially while I'm naked. 

There's part of me that feels a little ashamed about it. Humans are a lot less open about their sexuality and sexual urges. They can call it modesty, but they associate sex with guilt in a way that foreign and almost even disturbing to me. Masturbation is somewhat taboo, which is absurd since literally every species in the galaxy does it. What could be more natural?

Fuck, if it wasn't natural, my cock probably wouldn't fit so well in my hand. 

But thinking about Shepard while doing this...what would she think? She would blush, that much I can be sure of. I loved that sweet pink color her cheeks took on, even more vibrant when her red locks were hanging down around her face. Or spread out across her sheets. 

Damn. I have to keep control of my voice; the last thing I need is for Devon to hear me moaning like a fucking teenager in here. I can't control my body as well, though, my fist tightening rhythmically with strokes that I try to keep slow. 

Shepard told me once that she did this in the shower. She was trying to make me crazy one day, and she nailed it, telling me that even after going all night, she thought about me in the shower and couldn't help touching herself. Spirits, she felt so good. Her body was soft everywhere but inside her was like nothing I'd ever felt, hot and slick and...

My whole body shudders, my hand moving faster. 

There would be no point in hooking up with anyone else. None of them could feel like her, none of them could drive me crazy the way she did. Every inch and angle of Shepard's body called to me, fit against me flawlessly. There was so much we never got to do, so much more of her that I wanted to explore - both in her body and in her limits. 

She was always so tight. So flexible. So...

"Fuck, Shepard, yes." I hear myself say it distantly when a hot spark shoots from the top of my head and explodes through my cock, ending on the shower floor. I close my eyes instead of watching the water wash any of it down, instead of looking at myself. 

Shepard would be turned on if I could tell her what just happened. But I can't. So who really cares?

Nothing is better. I'm not sure it ever will be. 

*****

"How much do you know about the Blood Pack?"

Devon startles as Dhelem comes bursting into the apartment, well past knocking. It'd be nice if he didn't come in yelling, though. Especially not on mornings when I'm recovering from getting a little too far into the bottle. Devon got high at home last night, and it was just too tempting to let go for a little while. I didn't touch the sand, I wouldn't, but the Asari vodka went a long way. 

"Sorry," Dhelem chuckles, shutting the door behind him. "But seriously. Blood Pack." 

"They didn't do much on the Citadel," I tell him, shrugging my shoulders as much as I dare. Devon grunts when it forces him to move a little, the human half asleep on my shoulder and stretched out along the rest of the couch beside me. "Sometimes the mercs that we arrested were Pack, but that was it." 

"I know that Krogan dick is too big for human throats." 

Dhelem barks out a laugh at Devon's dry humor - both of us aware that he's not kidding - and hands me a paper cup of coffee. I toast him with it and take a big gulp. The stuff is fairly gross, but it's the strongest on Omega. 

"Blood Pack does more than mercenary jobs," he tells us. "They do anything involving big muscle, which includes big guns. And I heard that one of their Vorcha squads has a big shipment headed to the Citadel." 

"Ugh, Vorcha. You do not want to know what they're like in bed." 

Devon almost always follows up those warnings with a story, so I quickly assure him, "No, I don't," and then look back to Dhelem. "So, they're sending weapons to the Citadel. Happens every day. Customs will catch it." 

"Customs isn't prepared to catch dismantled pieces of unregistered arms, are they?" 

It takes me a minute to catch on through the fog of alcohol in my brain. I try to chase it away with a few more gulps of heavily acidic coffee. When it clicks, I know he's right. There are weapons that are illegal in most parts of the universe for their deadliness; of course, those are some of the most popular on Omega and with mercenaries. Customs is prepared to catch them when they come in whole, but if Dhelem is right and they're just sending parts, C-Sec won't find them. Those weapons will end up on the Citadel and in the hands of Spirits only knows who. 

"How much do you know?"

"Not much, but with our connections and some of the surveillance you've set up, we can learn enough," he replies, sliding to the edge of his seat. Dhelem loves the action almost as much as he loves poking holes in the operations of the gangs here. 

Devon tilts his head back to look up at me. "First time you've fucked with the Blood Pack." 

I smirk at him. "It's about time they get to know Archangel then, huh?" 

*****

The weapons that the Blood Pack Vorcha squad intends to ship to the Citadel serve exactly one purpose, and it has everything to do with increasing the dick size of the carrier. There's a reason these things have been banned on most stations and planets. Even on Tuchanka, the use of an automatic weapon with .65mm rounds is considered overkill. And these bastards want them on the most populated station in the galaxy.

It's a great catch from Dhelem, and I make sure he knows it. Devon is a great connection for drug trade info and fairly solid for slavery, but I didn't think we had an in for the weapons trade on this station. I wasn't sure I wanted one if I'm being honest. The thought that I might get spread too thin crosses my mind. With only me and Dhelem, there is going to be a day when I have to choose between operations to take down. But today is not that day. 

Today is the final day for this Vorcha squad to operate. Or to live. 

They're exactly as disorganized as I'd expect a Vorcha squad to be. It kind of blows my mind that the Blood Pack's leaders allowed Vorcha to create their own squad anyway. As a species, Vorcha aren't known for their operational acumen regardless of the industry. I've never been much for stereotypes, but Hanar have tentacles, and Vorcha are violent. It's hard for them to work even with each other; Dhelem and I witness half a dozen fights among the squad in three days of surveillance. 

Their nature makes our job much easier, though. It helps as well that the Blood Pack as a whole is cocky as hell, and Vorcha, in general, seem to think of themselves as untouchable or invincible. Their people, their homeworld, have no legal system, and they can't gain citizenship on the Citadel; maybe not seeing crime punished makes them think it never happens? They're about to learn the hard way. 

It seems like a fairly cut and dry mission for us, though Dhelem and I don't get cocky - something I like about him. And then our plans nearly implode when Devon drops a bomb on us. 

"Wait, wait. How do you know any of this?" Dhelem demands, pacing the living room. He has a pacing problem. 

"Sapphire has a regular appointment with a Krogan in the Pack," Devon tells us. "He's not high up the food chain, but they all have a communications problem, and he brags to show off. I heard him telling Saph that he's going to be guarding a weapons system because - and I quote - 'that punkass Archangel needs to get taught a lesson not to fuck with us.'" 

"Eloquent." Devon smirks at me, but Dhelem is less than amused and glares at me instead. "OK. We'll take a step back and regroup. Let's watch them tomorrow and figure out how many more we're dealing with now." 

"If they know we're onto them, they could up the timetable, and we're already nearing their shipping date. We can't afford much lost time," Dhelem says. 

He's right, I know. The Vorcha's disorganization will benefit us if they're rushed, but rushing on our end could flop our entire plan. 

Devon sighs heavily and throws himself down on the couch, landing with his head in my lap. I've quit protesting about his lack of respect for my personal space; honestly, I don't mind. He doesn't touch me inappropriately, and the contact is grounding sometimes. "Sorry," he offers, pouting up at me. 

"No, don't be. You saved us from walking in there blind." I nod at him. "We owe you one."

"Yeah, we're better off with our plan fucked than facing those Krogan unprepared," Dhelem chimes in, even though his expression says otherwise. I know that part of him wishes that we didn't go and could still just go in there, take our chances. I know because there's part of me that feels exactly the same way. With Dhelem's explosives and my aim, we could likely take the extra force in the squad. Likely. 

Or we could end up very dead, and the weapons would end up on the Citadel anyway. 

A knock at the door startles Devon - everything startles Devon - and he scrambles up against me. "You don't have friends!" he exclaims in a whisper-shout. "Who could be coming here this late?"

"Ah, maybe the Archangel finally got himself a booty call," Dhelem laughs. 

"Shut up. And get off me." I shove Devon only hard enough to push him to the other end of the couch, never hard enough to hurt him. Both just laugh at me, and I head for the door. It's definitely not a booty call, and Devon has a point about my lack of friends. In fact, I make it a point not to know people here. With that in mind,   
I grab the pistol from the side table near the couch on my way. 

Dhelem frowns and then pulls his gun, Devon moving back to the far end of the couch. "You worried?" the Batarian asks. 

"I'm cautious." 

I wish I'd been able to install a camera outside the door, but the owner of the building wouldn't hear of it. I think he assumed I was trying to peep on the young girls who live somewhere in this building. The only thing I want with those girls is to tell them to shut the hell up and get better taste in music. I don't have a way to look at who's on the other side without opening it, but with Dhelem standing at the side of the door and armed, I feel a little more secure about that. Besides, I can get a shot off in seconds. 

The doors whoosh open, and I'm face to face with three Turians, one woman and two men. My hand tightens around the pistol when they aren't immediately familiar, but then it clicks. I do know them. "What are you doing here?"

"Remember us?" one of them asks. I don't recall their names; I had no need to. 

I nod and then look at the woman in the group. "Did Melody get to the Citadel safely?" The girl's name I remember, along with her face. And I always will. Melody was the trigger that created Archangel. 

"She did," she responds. "And she was checked out at the hospital. A human couple adopted her within a week." The news eases a weight in my chest. It's nice to have done something that didn't end in absolutely everyone dead. 

"Hey, so since you remember us, think you could disarm and invite us in?" one of the others asks. "Your Batarian, too?"

Dhelem steps more clearly into view beside me, not lowering his weapon just yet. I nod to him to disarm, but don't move to let them in. "I don't make it a habit of giving out my address, and I'm not interested in new friends. What are you doing here?"

"Ah, come on. Who doesn't want to meet Archangel?"

"Get in," I snap, finally stepping aside. It's not like I have a choice if they're going to use that name at my door. They're damn lucky I don't start firing. 

The three of them walk in and secure the door again behind them. Devon is still on the couch, knees tucked up against his chest, and I watch the Turians exchange a glance about a human in my living room. Their subtones betray their curiosity, but at least it isn't disgust. 

One of the men steps forward and extends a hand to Dhelem. "Sertis," he introduces himself. He turns to Devon next; Devon makes the forearm shake look like it's natural to him. "This is Villo and Caeria. "Now I don't have to pretend I remembered their names. 

Devon and Dhelem introduce themselves while the Turians make themselves comfortable in the sparse furniture I have. They have clearly decided that they belong here, and it starts to piss me off almost immediately. 

"I really hate repeating myself, but what are you doing here? I seriously doubt it was just to prove you figured out Archangel's identity." 

"Although, we should find out how you did that," Devon chimes in. He has a point; it's very much supposed to be a secret identity. I grab a cigarette. It crossed my mind to quit for about the millionth time today. Now I have another excuse not to. 

"Oh, I've been tailing you since the first time we met," Villo announces as if it's the most normal thing in the world. "Hey, can I bum one?" He motions to the cigarettes, and I roll my eyes before tossing him one. "Thanks. Yeah, after we saw your skills, I wanted to see what else you would do." 

"And he got a little jealous when you teamed up with the human and the Batarian after turning us down," Serta adds, clearly teasing him. 

"I still don't understand why you're here now," I tell them, getting tired of this. We have a weapons deal to up-end and Krogan interference to deal with. I don't need a team of Turians who are oddly Archangel fans getting in my way. 

"Because we're going to help you take out that weapons deal," Villo announces, his mandibles spreading on a grin as if he's aware he was wearing my thoughts. 

Devon barks out a laugh that's only half-amused. "Just how closely have you been following him? Do you know how many times he's jerked off today, too? And if so, can you tell me?" I smack him lightly in the back of the head, and Dhelem chuckles; the Turian squad just trades glances, probably trying to figure out this relationship. If they manage, they should tell me.

"This one was a coincidence," Caeria tells us. "We've been trying to nail down that Vorcha squad for a while, and we saw you two getting involved. Your plan is solid, but there's a problem." 

"Yeah, the Krogans. We know." Dhelem doesn't bother to hide the smugness in his expression or his voice. 

"So then you know you need the extra muscle and gun power," Villo notes, shrugging. He still hasn't lit the cigarette even while I'm halfway through mine, so he clearly knows I don't have a rule about smoking in here. "We can provide that." 

I narrow my eyes, immediately suspicious. People don't offer their help in exchange for nothing, especially once they realize the specific skills I have to offer. "In exchange for what?" 

Serta doesn't like that and narrows his eyes right back at me. "In exchange for keeping those weapons off the Citadel. You got real trust issues, man." 

"You don't know the half of it," Devon announces with a laugh. It earns him another swat to his head. 

Dhelem is watching me, and I can see the thoughts on his face. It's a good idea. Joining up with this Turian squad could solve all of our problems, and I recall them all being ex C-Sec so I know they have some skills. This could keep us on our timetable without making those Krogan an unnecessary risk. But it means allowing yet more people around me, letting them in on my missions. I came to Omega to be alone, and now there are five people in my living room, all of them eager to work with me. 

"We'll brief you on our plan for the weapons deal," I announce, making the responsible decision, "but that's it. We part ways after, and you forget everything you know about Archangel." I look at Villo and add, "And the stalking stops." 

"Deal," Serta agrees, quickly enough that I know they predicted those terms. "All we wanna do is fuck up the Blood Pack." 

Devon looks up at me and smirks. "Maybe this could work."

*****

There's a moment during the firefight when it's like I can feel Shepard standing at my side. On my left, of course; it put me in my rightful position on her right side. A Krogan rushes me, and I get a breeze that smells like cinnamon and citrus. It nearly stalls my heart, and it almost stalls me enough that I miss my opportunity to fire on the two-ton merc. 

I almost got myself pummeled because I was hallucinating about Shepard. 

Even though we're successful and work nearly seamlessly as a squad to wipe out the entire Vorcha unit and their Krogan guard, even though we kept deadly weapons off the Citadel, and even though we put a real dent in the Blood Pack's weapons trade, that mistake puts me in a foul mood. The woman is dead, the woman was never even mine, and I put real lives at risk - my own included - for an opportunity to remember what she smelled like. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic, and I am so fucking tired of being pathetic. 

I end up at the bar with the squad. They're celebrating, I'm indulging in self-pity. Tonight that looks like way too much ryncol in a dark booth while the others dance and enjoy themselves. 

"Hey there, big guy." I cringe at the name even if the voice is wrong. It takes me a second to recognize Caeria through the fog clouding my vision. 

"Don't call me that." Even I can hear the slur in my words, but Caeria doesn't seem to mind. 

She slides into the booth, and I don't know if she actually sits right up against my side, or if I'm moving...or if that's the bar. I take another gulp of the drink that burns like acid going down far after my throat should have gone numb. I know it won't help, but I don't care. I deserve the pain. 

"What would you like me to call you?" she asks. I can hear her subtones over the pounding of the music. She wants me. She's already aroused; I wonder if that's from me or the alcohol. 

"Usually by the time a woman sounds like that, she's already calling me 'sir.'" Where the hell did that come from? I'm not attracted to her. Maybe I would have been a year ago, but she does nothing for me. So why did I say that? Why aren't I taking it back? 

Why the fuck am I still drinking? At some point, I lost control of my body because the mug lifts to my mouth, and Caeria leans closer to me. I think her hand is on my thigh, but I'm mostly numb. 

"Hey!" Caeria startles instantly, and after a moment, I manage to react. Devon is standing at the end of the table. He's pissed, though I don't know what about. He looks really pretty tonight, though. Good for him. "You can tell he's hammered. Take a hike." 

"And who are you?" she snaps back at him. "His boyfriend?"

I laugh without meaning to. "No way. I trust Devon. I'd never trust my boyfriend." I look up at Devon and tell him, "You're pretty." 

"I know," he responds, sliding into the booth beside me. "You are drunk. But you're pretty too, for the record." 

"I know." Only then I realize that Caeria is gone, and I don't know where she went. "She wanted some dick. Did you hear her subtones?" 

Devon laughs. It sounds weird. Everything sounds weird. "I can't hear subtones, and she can go get some dick somewhere else. You're good enough to hate yourself in the morning." 

"Ha! I hate myself in the all the time." The mug is getting harder to bring to my mouth. I think some of it spills. Devon is doing something on the table, but he's hard to see, so I close my eyes. "I like sex, Devon. I miss it. Will I ever be able to fuck anyone who isn't her?"

"I..." Devon makes a sound. "I don't know, dude. I think so. I hope so. But...bonding is some heavy shit." 

"It's the worst shit." I only realize I said that out loud when Devon laughs. "I think I'm drunk." 

"Oh, ya think? Come on, let's get you home." 

"You can't carry me," I protest when he tugs on my arm. "And I can walk. But don't try to suck my dick when we get home. Oh, I miss having my dick sucked, too." 

"Oh, man, don't we all?" 

I realize that we're walking. I know I'm on my feet, and I'm moving. I can feel Devon beside me, too close. Against me. I don't want to move him away, though. Not him. And then the apartment. Did I sleep on the way here? I don't remember walking enough to be here. But I recognize the smell. And my bed. And the gun.

"That was her Christmas present," I tell Devon, vaguely aware of him at the end of the bed. I don't know what he's doing. "I was gonna give that to her even after she dumped me. Now...I can't." 

"How come you don't use it when you're fighting?" The feeling of being lifted, at least a little, registers, and I look down to see that Devon managed to get all my clothes except my shorts off. I try to give him a look even though my face is numb, and it must work because he laughs and explains, "My job includes a lot of removing clothes. This wasn't even that difficult." 

"You're welcome for not being that difficult. And thank you for running...that Turian off." 

Devon sighs and sits down on the bed beside me. "She's harmless. Can't blame her for being hot for you, Archangel." I just groan at that, and my eyes fall closed. They're too hard to open again, and I don't try very hard. "You don't use the gun because you still think of it as hers, don't you? And those tags...still hers." 

"Devon." The first physical sensation I've genuinely felt in hours is a sharp pain lancing through my chest. "Everything is still hers. I always will be." 

"Ah, dude. That shit is heartbreaking." Something warm moves over me, and it feels tempting, pulling me into the dark gently. "Go to sleep. You'll be OK, dude." 

OK. He's wrong. There's no way I could be OK. Not anymore. 

I let the darkness take me. 

*****

I want to die for an entirely different reason in the morning. Or, at least I think it's morning. I feel like I've slept for days, and my mouth is dry enough to make it seem plausible. Every blink, every creak of my plates - and they're literally creaking today - echoes through my brain like a semiautomatic is firing in my skull. There is nothing that doesn't hurt, and I've never been so aware of my breathing before. 

When I get out of the shower, which I barely managed to stand through, I find water and pain killers waiting on the table by my bed. And I know it was Devon who out them here because the painkillers are literally sitting on the barrel of the gun. He probably thought it was poetic. Or funny. It might be if my head wasn't going to explode at any moment. 

All I can manage to put on after taking the drugs and drinking the entire glass of water is sweatpants and the dog tags. Anything else is just too much effort. Even the tags are loud and cold against my carapace; it's worth it for those, though. 

I don't care that I'm almost entirely undressed even when I walk out into the living room and find it far more full of people than I prefer. I'm a Turian, after all; we don't give much thought to modesty. Besides, I'm going to vomit on the couch if they don't move, so who gives a crap that I'm barely wearing anything? Devon's catcall whistle is almost enough to kill me, though. 

"I will destroy you," I tell him, barely recognizing my own voice. "As soon as I can see straight." 

"You drank like we lost last night, man," Villo teases, looking rather comfortable in my home for someone who never should have been here at all. "We wiped out that whole squad!" 

"We kicked ass," Dhelem chimes in with a wide grin. 

Sertis gives me a sideways glance while drinking my coffee from one of my mugs. "We could do it again, you know? If you guys wanted." 

That explains it. 

I sit down hard on the couch and let my head fall on Devon's shoulder. His arms come around me immediately, and I let it be comforting. I'm not clear on everything we talked about last night, my memory as foggy as my vision, but I know Devon was there for me. Since I'm moments from death by skull implosion, I need that sort of friendship right now. I can hear confusion from the other Turian's in the room, but I ignore them. 

"I don't do teamwork," I inform them, really wishing I could clear my throat without blood. 

"Hey!" Dhelem laughs at his own protest when I offer him a rude gesture universal across most species. 

"You could do even more with teamwork, though. All the gangs know about you now; they aren't going to make taking them down easy," Villo says. "It's not like you'd be taking on useless chumps." 

Sertis laughs. "Yeah, we even bring our own weapons." 

"And...our own apartment," Caeria chimes in. "You cannot tell me that you want to stay here." 

That one actually gets me to open my eyes. When I'm not thinking about it, sometimes the smell in this apartment building doesn't make me feel violently ill. But I'm thinking about it a lot. And even hungover, I wouldn't be able to ignore the stains on the floor and walls outside this door. I force myself to sit up and glance toward Dhelem. He nods subtlely, on board. Devon looks nervous, though.

"I have stipulations," I tell them, taking a risk and clearing my throat. "No missions off Omega; I'm not interested in getting involved with any shit on the Citadel, or being involved with people there. We never ignore the risk to civilian lives. And wherever I go, Devon does too." 

All three of the former C-Sec officers look at Devon at the same time. They must know who he is, what he does if they've been following us. And they absolutely must have questions about our arrangement. But they've also got to know that he's the only person I trust completely right now - trust, and trust to help me stay alive. 

"Your stipulations aren't about splitting any rewards we get for work?" Caeria asks, frowning at me. Something about her is really setting me off today, but I don't know what. 

"I'm not a fucking merc. There, add that to the stipulations." 

Sertis nods and stands. "You got it, vigilante - not merc. And deal. You accept us as part of the crew, and we have a deal." One more glance around; this time, both Devon and Dhelem look sure. 

This is absolutely not what I expected when moving here. Well, running here. I came to Omega to disappear, to forget. Suddenly, I have a crew staring me in the face, a group of people who want to improve this Spirits forsaken station. And who want my help to do it. I'm not a Spectre like Shepard wanted me to be, I'm not married or in C-Sec like my father wants me to be, I'm not with Shepard like I wanted to be. 

And yet, I'm shaking Sertis's forearm and accepting the deal to form a crew. None of this was what I wanted, and I'm still not sure that it is. What I do know is the alternative...and I'm not ready to die yet. 

*****

"You know, I should be insulted that you don't trust me yet." 

I roll my eyes at Villo's back. It confuses the hell out of the Turian former C-Sec agents who have joined our squad, but I don't care. A well-timed eye roll says so much, and even if no one sees it, there's something cathartic about the action. Human or not, I'm not giving it up. 

And Villo deserves it at the moment. 

"Go ahead and be insulted. I don't trust you yet." 

He huffs out a quick laugh and just shakes his head, probably expecting that answer. We've only been working together for a couple of weeks, but we live together now too. More than a few comments about me being a closed door or a concrete wall have been thrown around the apartment. Devon and Dhelem don't argue any of it, but they're also preening a little about being in what I heard Caeria call "the inner circle." I have no fucking circles, just a bunch of people who pester me about opening up. 

I'm going to pay someone to open up my throat soon, I swear. Especially if Villo ever pulls some shit like this again. 

"I might trust you a little more if you didn't wake me up in the middle of the night for nonsense." He managed to interrupt one of the few good dreams I ever have. He also managed to wake me before that dream reached the completion is always does, but that one benefits him. I'd have an excuse to shoot him if he saw my cock. 

"It's not nonsense," he argues, a slight growl building in his chest. He takes offense to me not responding to that, I guess, because he snaps, "It's not! I'm telling you, you gotta see this guy." 

"Fine. Tell me about it again?" I rub my fringe, hoping I don't fall asleep standing here. The smell in this alley is probably the only thing keeping me awake, so I need Villo talking even if I think he might be full of shit. 

"Me and Sertis were checking out that Eclipse squad - that one you asked us to track?" I nod, recalling them well. I don't forget people who might be involved in the slave trade. "There's a Salarian tracking them, too. He has his own cameras, I've seen him using mics and shit. The guy has to be STG or something, definitely a tech expert." 

"And you've been shadowing him? Like you were shadowing me?" I give him a side eye and note, "You're a real creep sometimes, you know that?" 

He laughs, which is a superiorly inappropriate way to respond to that, but I've come to expect nothing less. "Anyway. He's making his move tonight. I thought we could watch him, maybe see if he could be a good addition to the crew." 

"We're not recruiting." I push off the wall and flick my spent cigarette to the ground. "I'm not hanging out in some shit alley in the middle of the night to not recruit someone. And especially not someone who is ex-STG." Those guys are like Spectres with freakishly good science skills. I remember the squad with fought with on Virmire with equal parts admiration and caution. 

"We should be recruiting people who have skills we need. How else are we gonna take down the gangs around here?"

It's my turn to laugh at Villo. "You realize that you're on Omega, right? The gangs here aren't going anywhere. They practically run this place." 

"Aria runs this place." 

"Who?" I shake my head and continue, "Nevermind, it doesn't matter. We aren't recruiting, and we don't need to be recruiting because we aren't taking down the damn gangs around here. That's a useless mission." 

"It's probably a suicide mission. And you're probably suicidal." I refuse to let myself react to that. "You know you can't stand the bullshit that happens around here, especially because you know what happens on Omega doesn't stay on Omega. Remember that I saw you with that little human girl." 

"Melody." 

He smiles like he's just won something and says, "Exactly. So get real, Archangel. You're the savior of Omega, like it or not. And that Salarian," he points to the other end of the alley, to the area that he's been watching, "should be part of our team." 

Villo fades into a whisper by the end of that, and I don't retort in an effort not to blow our position. I may not care to be here or to recruit anyone, but I don't want to get shot for it or put the Salarian at risk. The potentially former STG agent in question is hidden behind a few crates where a Varren meat dealer is storing meat - room temperature and on the ground, but that's a different sort of crime than the Eclipse mercs heading into the closed-down market place are likely committing. 

We're too far to hear the mercs, too far away to figure out what's going on, but we aren't really here to for them. Villo is here to find out if the Salarian can get them down. And if they are into slavery, as I suspect, I'm definitely not above helping the guy out. I don't go for my rifle yet, willing to give Villo the benefit of the doubt and just watch. 

I'm willing for about an hour. And then I think about just shooting Villo. I'm moments from doing it when the action finally starts. We can't really tell what that action is, but we can see clearly that something is going down, the Salarian shifting into a kneeling position and pulling up a screen on his Omni-Tool. Villo is holding his breath as the Salarian types away, and I wonder if that's more because he's anxious about what will happen or because he's anxious about how I'll react to whatever happens. 

I have zero control over my reaction when the first Eclipse merc goes down. I can't tell what happened, but the merc drops right to his knees and lets out a piercing scream. For a beat, his squadmates just stare at him. And then another goes down. Another. It's moments before the entire squad is on the floor, writhing in pain. No explosions, no gunshots, no biotics, no fire. Just a totally incapacitated Eclipse squad and one Salarian with a smug smile. 

I know without having to look that Villo has a massive, shit-eating grin on his face. "Fine. He might be worth talking to."

"He might be badass," he replies with a laugh. "Come on, let's go."

Villo straightens from the wall but waits for me like he needs me to hold his hand on the way over. I roll my eyes at him yet again and follow him into the dim light of the market, letting my boots settle heavily in the space dust so that the Salarian doesn't think we're sneaking up on him. I pull my helmet off on the way; if we're going to think about working with the guy, he's allowed to see my face. I'll stay anonymous for the rest of the station.

The Salarian draws a pistol when he hears us coming but doesn't raise it at us right away, obviously realizing that we aren't holding weapons on him either. "Who the hell are you?"

A memory strikes me, and I turn to Villo. "Go get Sertis, have him complain about this guy stealing our kills." 

"Hey, we were on that hunt for a long time! It was kind of fucking annoying that you came swaggering onto the station - " 

"I most definitely do not swagger." 

"All big Turian with an even bigger rifle, and just wiped that whole squad out." Villo looks to the Salarian and then points at me. "This guy has a thing with stealing kills. But this whole thing wasn't our kill. You earned it." 

"I...earned..." The Salarian shakes his head and demands, "Who are you?"

I step forward and extend my right hand. "Ignore him. I'm Archangel." That still feels pretentious as hell, but it's better than creating a new name that would just be a lie or giving people my real name. Besides, it's recognizable. 

"Oh. That explains it." The Salarian accepts my handshake. "Akart. And you definitely do swagger." 

Villo laughs, and I force myself not to take the bait. "Fine. But you know who I am, what me and my team do around here. We were checking out this Eclipse unit, but you're impressive. Really impressive, actually." He would be the best tech expert I've ever seen if I'd never met Tali. I'd give my left arm to listen to that Quarian giggle. 

I shake it off and pull myself back into the moment to listen to Akart. "Yeah, well. They had it coming." His throat flushes, and he tightens his free hand into a fist, so I wait for the story I know is coming. "These Eclipse slavers...my partner was going after them. They murdered him. Tortured him. Sent me his..." Akart trails off, shaking his head. 

"It's alright," I assure him, not about to push the guy for more. "Needing revenge is something I understand."

"We all hate what these assholes are doing. Them, Blood Pack, Blue Suns...Archangel has been screwing with their ops for a while now." Villo shrugs, hopefully trying to sound less like he's making a sales pitch. "We could use a tech expert with your skills." 

Akart cocks his head. "You're asking me to join your squad?" 

"We're asking for your help," I correct him, holding out my hand once again. "We can at least make ops a little more difficult for these scumbags." 

His returning handshake is much more eager this time. "I'm in." 

*****

Things on Omega keep...changing. I almost want to use the spiraling, but I think that would insult my new team. Or...friends. I don't know what they are yet. But all of a sudden, there are a lot of them.

Devon and I moved into the apartment that Caeria, Villo, and Sertis have on Omega. It's actually more of a complex that they have, and I don't ask how they ended up with almost an entire building. It works out, though. I have the same amount of privacy as I did in my own apartment - which, with Devon around, is very little - and the smell is vastly improved. They also keep telling me it's in a better part of the station; there is no good part of this station, though. 

But there are a lot of people around suddenly. Especially considering I moved to this station to be alone. And it's probably especially weird that only one of them knows my full name and he doesn't use it. Ever. I'm constantly around another person unless I'm in my bedroom, and there is at least one Turian woman in the building who is persistent about trying to follow me in there. Dhelem is around so often that he may as well move in, and they all seem to have a thing for sharing common spaces. 

And now they want to add even more people to this mix. 

"Why do you people always insist on talking to me about things you know I'll hate early as fuck in the morning?" Devon's foul language is wearing off on me; I wonder how Shepard would feel about that. I wonder when I can stop thinking stupid shit like that. 

"Because even when you're in a good mood," Dhelem cocks his head at me and smirks, baring his teeth at me, "you have a Krogan-sized stick up your ass." 

"You're gonna have a Turian sized boot up your ass. Go join these mercs you're such a fan of." I wave him away, and Dhelem just laughs, pushing my cup of coffee closer. I growl at him but grab it and take a big gulp, certain I'm going to need it. I take a deep breath in through my nose and then head into the living room where I have a whole team looking for my opinion on something they know I won't like. "You all realize that you don't need my permission for shit, right?"

Devon turns to look back at me over the back of the couch. "They think of you as their leader, Archie. Deal with it." 

"I will not, and don't call me that." He blows me a kiss, and I hide my smile behind a sip of coffee. I can't have this team know that I have a sweet spot for the guy. If he starts asking me for the crap they annoy me with, I'm screwed. 

"Hey, look, we just don't want you to have competition on the station," Dhelem says, very obviously still teasing me. 

"He doesn't," Caeria mutters behind her own mug, as if she doesn't have subtones that announce all of her intentions and interests to the entire room. There was a time when I would have loved that, being in a room with five other men who all know that the only woman in the room wants me. I would have had no qualms about being a cocky shit about it, too. 

Now, she makes me intensely uncomfortable. Now, I can barely look at her without wondering if anything that I said would offend Shepard. I'm on edge near an eligible woman who wants in my pants because I think it might upset the dead woman who dumped me. And it's knowing how stupid and pathetic all of that makes me sound that really makes Caeria piss me off. 

"Look, these two guys are trying to build a crew of mercs on the station," Akart begins. "They approached me about a week ago, but they've only done some small stuff, so I wasn't sure. They seem like good guys, though." 

"And one of them is a medic," Villo chimes in. "We could use a medic on the crew." 

Devon smiles too brightly at me. "And the other one is human. I could feel a little less like the zoo animal." 

"If you wore underwear walking around in public spaces, you'd be less like a zoo animal," I quip, not bothering to hide my smile this time. Devon laughs, of course; my favorite thing about him is that he can give as good as he gets. 

They have a point, though. We're planning to stop another weapons op, this one from an Eclipse squad with Asari, which means we're going to face biotics. It would be nice to have a medic around. Mordin's clinic is a good resource to have, but I can't always ask him to drop everything for my people, and if it gets out to the gangs that any of us is in the clinic, we could put the entire place at risk. 

I'm just so damn surrounded. Do I really need yet two more people here? Do I really need even more change?

"Come on, big guy," Sertis says, leaning back in his chair. Every single time he calls me that, it's like getting punched in the chest. And every single time, I reach for the tags and the sanity that only this piece of metal can bring me. "You know we're gonna need to keep building the squad if we're gonna keep tackling these ops. Now that the gangs are onto us, we have to be prepared to face their defenses." 

"And we're gonna need your OK on this shit because whether you not you like it...you run this crew." 

I scoff at that and shake my head, wishing I could manage to finish one damn cup of coffee before it goes cold. Just one. "You all can lead yourselves." 

"We can handle ourselves, no one is saying that," Dhelem notes, "but you have experience putting the missions together. And you're good at it." I should probably be more complimented than annoyed at that. "You lead, things go as smoothly as we can expect them to for fucking Omega." 

"I do not want to lead." 

"Too damn bad," Devon counters, standing and still very much smiling. "Someone bring the medic and the human over for dinner. We're bringing home two new babies, folks." He crosses the room, takes a grip of my carapace to tug me closer to his level, and kissing my cheek. "I'll cook for ya, Daddy." 

*****

It doesn't stop with dinner. That night, an offer is made for Frank Butler, the human, and Sidonis - a Turian medic - to join our squad. They strike me as good people immediately. It helps their case that Sidonis lost his bondmate and is suffering. Maybe it's partially that I don't want to be the only broken sap around, but I also like knowing that he has a driving force. Frank lives on the station with his wife, Nalah, and they want to start a family. They need Omega to be the kind of place they can raise a kid; that's a mission I can get behind, too. 

The problem is that the two of them have been recruiting, trying to build their own squad. What they were missing was a leader, and that's what our squad offers them. I guess that's what I offer them. 

So, Butler and Sidonis join us and bring along their crew. Kana and Amtis are Turian mercs and bonded to one another. It turns my stomach a little to see them together, but then I learn they lost a child to gang activity on Omega. A Blood Pack deal went sideways, and their four-year-old son was caught in the crossfires. They're hellbent on putting an end to the Pack. 

Pem is another Batarian, and I'm not ashamed to make Dhelem vouch for him when I learn he used to run with the Blue Suns. When I find out that he left the Suns after one of their ops ended in his mate dead and the leaders of the gang had not a single fuck to give about it, I'm sold. 

Yom'Jenna has a story similar to too many Quarian out here, and she's the most reluctant to join. She has trouble trusting anyone after what she's been through, some of which I know includes being sold into slavery when she was just trying to get home. She doesn't want to go back to the Flotilla now; now, she wants revenge. 

That's the common thread among all of them. Revenge. All of them have been directly harmed or hurt by one of the gangs that operate widely on this station. It sets me apart from them since the gangs here never did anything to me specifically, but they seem to understand how and why I'm invested. By the end of the week, there are twelve of us with that same investment. 

And that's how things start to change again. 

It happens one night when we're talking about halting yet another weapons deal. Sidonis groans about there always being another, that it seems like we'll never get ahead. It's Devon who lights the spark when he says, "You'd have to take down the gangs from the top for it to stop." 

Take down the gangs from the top. 

Wipe out the Blue Suns, eradicate the Eclipse, put an end to the Blood Pack. 

We wouldn't just be rescuing Omega but countless lives across the galaxy in an epic clean-up of scum. Our efforts to stop low-level deals and chase around their activities stop right then and there. From that moment on, Archangel comes to stand for one thing: making them pay for what they've done.


	7. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm currently drafting all of the ME2 chapters which is, of course, the next installment in this work. And I have a confession to make. 
> 
> Things are getting excessively smutty. And I love it. 
> 
> I hope you're still enjoying and will stick around for the rest of the road for these two. They have a lot ahead of them! Comments and kudos feed my soul <3

I don't want to admit it at first, but there are benefits to having a crew and being surrounded by people all the time. For one thing, they are constantly full of distractions. With a full, diverse crew and so many people with diverse skills, we have surveillance everywhere around the station and a myriad of missions, ops, and strategies to start knocking the gangs on Omega down. 

They also have personal bullshit, gossip, and relationships with one another that I am apparently required to hear about. Mostly I just nod and drink, but they seem to appreciate it. 

It helps as well just to have so many people around all the time. I'm not forced to deal with my own thoughts because I don't have much time or opportunity to. When Dhelem and Sidonis move into the apartment, I can find something or someone to occupy me at all times. We workout, we go to the shooting range - dilapidated as it might be - and I even let them talk me into playing video games. 

I can occupy myself with ops all day, and I can find distractions all night or whenever we have downtime. By the time I get to bed at night, usually drunk and always exhausted, I can just pass out. 

The nightmares don't fade. I can't escape Shepard's death in my dreams, and I can't stop feeling like a failure for letting it happen. And she haunts me during the day, during ops. Sometimes I can still hear her, still smell her. But I can avoid it enough that the gun ends up in my drawer. Out of sight if not completely out of mind. 

The crew starts focusing on all the ways we can hurt the gang ops on Omega. Sometimes it's sheer violence, taking out a few of their numbers and a bunch of their equipment. Sometimes it involves more subterfuge, strategies to make ops too costly for the gangs to go through with them or to throw a wrench in the works so that their plans fail. At every opportunity, we're undermining the assholes who use Omega like their bitch and fuck it and the people who live here over. 

And people are noticing. Archangel is a name getting whispered in every corner of this station within six months. People whisper it for help or to drop secrets for us to use, the emblem that Yom'Jenna created for us gets tagged all over the station, civilians and criminals alike say my name in fear. And the mercs are getting pissed. As far as I'm concerned, that just means we're doing something right. We're gaining notoriety and attention, my name and the Archangel image standing in the place of justice on this forsaken shithole station. 

We're making a difference. Sometimes it's hellish work that threatens our souls, but we're doing the right thing. We're changing Omega. I don't want it to end up entirely like the Citadel; that's too many rules and too clean for me. But this place doesn't have to be hell, and I won't tolerate anyone who tries to stand in the way of that change. 

I have Aria T'Loak on my radar at all times, anticipating that eventually she's going to get in the way. Aria has more notoriety than Archangel and a bigger reputation than the leader of any of the gangs combined. She is the unofficial leader of the station, an Asari with her hands in absolutely everything that goes down on Omega. As far as an of us can tell, Aria has no official connection to any of the gangs, but it's impossible that they operate without her knowledge. As far as I'm concerned, that's tacit consent. 

And now my name is popping up on Aria's comms and in the messages that we've intercepted. What she's saying is far more concerning than I could have expected, especially if what Akart is saying is true. "I need you to be sure," I tell him, rubbing my fringe and trying to prevent the headache I can feel building. Devon leaves the table and heads into the kitchen. 

"I am sure. She is using a channel that they knew we were watching." Akart motions to the streams of intercepted communications on his datapad. "They identified this channel specifically weeks ago; Aria herself mentioned it. We kept using it just in case, really; it didn't take any effort to just keep monitoring." He waves that off and continues, "Anyway. The channel went silent, obviously, but now Aria is using it again. And she's using it to talk about you." 

"There's no reason to do that if she didn't want your attention." The way Sidonis is smirking at me while he says it makes me feel simultaneously confused, exhausted, and pissed off. 

It's not just that Aria very intentionally is seeking my attention. It's not just that the leader of Omega is seeking out Archangel. It's exactly what she seems to be seeking that has me on edge. Aria isn't known for being subtle - a woman in charge doesn't have to be - and that's remaining true now. Aria is being rather direct. She doesn’t want to deal with Archangel the way the mercs do. Aria wants Archangel. 

Aria T'Loak wants me.

"I'm fucking anonymous," I growl, pounding my fist the table and wishing that my blood wasn't boiling. "She doesn't know me, doesn't know anything about me." 

Devon scoffs even more obnoxiously than usual when he returns from the kitchen and places a glass of whiskey in front of me. "You're on camera, and you've been in public in your armor. And dude, you look fine as hell in that armor." 

"Yeah, she agrees," Akart notes, reading through the message threads. I don't need to read them again; I remember. 

Aria is a powerhouse. She's commanded an entire station in the Traverse, ignoring all the warnings that any government with sense gives about this place. She's fought off every single pirate, merc, marauder, and soldier who has tried to take this station from her over the last three centuries, and she hasn't given any of them a fucking inch. 

If there is anyone left in the galaxy who can do it for me, it's Aria fucking T'Loak. And she wants me. 

I have to shift to ease the pressure on my growing erection, a problem I haven't had without being very deliberate in a very long time. It doesn't help that I'm pissed off Aria would be so blatant about what she wants. No one of any species misses the meaning of her little jokes, and a line about shutting me up with her mouth made my fringe tingle when I saw it. 

"Look, you know there are advantages to this," Dhelem says, leaning back in his seat at our kitchen table. "Aria has a ton of information about what goes down on this station. She could be a powerful connection for us." 

"You want me to whore myself out for information?" 

Sidonis scoffs at that. "Buddy, you'll have to try lying that you don't want Aria when someone who can't hear your subtones isn't around." 

"And try it without someone who is rather adept at noticing when a hot guy has a hard-on," Devon chimes in. 

The four of them dissolve into laughter at my expense, and I shove away from the table like a petulant fucking child. "Hey, come on," Sidonis protests, catching my arm before I can get far. "We're just screwing around." 

"Like you should be," Dhelem teases, grabbing my whiskey and throwing it back. 

Akart clears his throat and looks up at me. "You have been...tense since I've known you. Don't Turian usually require sex?"

"No. There are asexual Turians,” Devon quips, leveling a glare at me. 

"OK but seriously," Dhelem presses. “You’ve earned the ass, and Aria has a great one. Why aren’t you taking advantage of it? And would you be willing to let me borrow your armor so that I could take advantage of it?” 

I swat him in the back of the head at that, mostly because I’m annoyed he makes me laugh. 

“We’re done talking about this.” I block them out after that and head into my bedroom. Shepard’s tags are in my hand before the doors can even shut, and I try to soak her in through the metal somehow.

Lorik Qui'in was the last time I felt real attraction for anyone who wasn’t Shepard, and he knew I was thinking about her the entire time. Now, this Asari - and a criminal at that - who I've never even met has me hard. 

Does it mean that I'm losing Shepard, that I'm growing further from her memories? Could I lose Shepard if I go through with something with Aria?

Would Shepard hate me if she knew?

Spirits, I'm a fool. It shouldn't matter if she would be mad. First, she's dead; dead people can’t get mad at the people they abandoned and left behind. And besides...she left me. For all I know, Shepard got back onto the Normandy after dumping me and slept with Kaidan. Or Liara. She was going to move on, but now she's dead, and I'm still unable.

Pathetic. I know it's pathetic.

And yet...

I have to loosen my hold on the tags before I crush them. I miss her. I miss Shepard. 

Aria is interesting because she's dangerous, because she's exciting, because she's exactly the sort that always would have turned me on. But she is not Shepard, and damn did that woman do it for me. Shepard was perfect; there is no stand-in for that. 

But am I willing to sacrifice something that my crew might need just to avoid a woman who turns me on? Because I'm scared of what will happen if we're alone, and how I'll feel about it afterward? 

There's no time to figure out the answer to that before the door opens, and I turn to find Sidonis stepping through. His subtones aren't as playful as they were a few moments ago, and that's really the only reason I let him stay. "What's up?" I ask, sitting down on the bed in the hopes it'll make him want to leave faster. Sidonis either doesn't get the message or doesn't care, coming in to lean against the desk. 

"Just wanted to make sure you're OK." 

I jerk one shoulder up. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" His mandibles press flat to his cheeks when he narrows his gaze at me, almost enough to make me laugh. "You guys were just fooling around. It's fine." 

"But you still haven't managed to let go of those tags?" he notes, motioning to where my hand is still in a fist against my chest. I hadn't even realized. "So...Commander Shepard, huh?" Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes. "Oh, come on, give us some credit. We all know you were on the mission that took down Saren and the geth on the Citadel." I have to fight not to object to the Council's party line that totally ignores the Reaper threat. "And we know that Commander Shepard died on the mission...plus your girl died." 

"She wasn't my girl." Now I can release the tags, and I stand to move to the window. There's no view, just the brick wall of the building next door or the guy who lives a floor down who masturbates far too often for it to be healthy, but at least I don't have to look at Sidonis. 

"Maybe not. But you bonded with her." 

He's not asking. He knows. And of course he does; Turians can see it in one another, can hear it in subtones and smell it in pheromones. I'm surprised he's the first Turian on the squad to call me out on it, really. Sidonis is probably the first to figure out that he can get away with it, though. 

"We aren't supposed to lose our bondmates, man. That is...I don't have words for it." The grief pouring through his subtones pierces my chest, magnifying my own pain by knowing he shares in it. It's true. When a Turian loses a close family member, they are given mandatory leave from service for two weeks. When it's their husband or wife, they get an extra week, and if the Turian loses their child, they get a month to grieve and recover. 

But when a Turian loses their bondmate, they are given the opportunity to take up to a year off. If they've been with their bondmate for long enough, they're given a chance to retire right then and there, no matter how old the Turian is. 

The death of a Turian's bondmate is devastating. And usually, that comes after getting to share a life with them. For me? Shepard and I barely got started when I lost her, if I ever really had her in the first place. 

"I'm tired of wallowing," I confess. "I keep trying something, anything to reduce the pain. Missions, drinking...but I don't know how to include fucking in that. It's taken me this long just to get a little hot for another person." 

Sidonis gives a harsh laugh. "Man, I lost my mate a year ago, and we weren't even bonded, but it took me months to even look at someone else. The guilt kinda weighs down the cock, huh?"

There's a moment of pride in his subtones when I manage to laugh genuinely at that. I turn back to him and lean on the wall, the two of us adopting the same pose across the room from one another. After a beat of silence, Sidonis sighs. "Look, we know what Aria wants, but that doesn't mean you have to go in prepared to give it to her. You have information she could use too, and she might be willing to trade her intel for that." Sidonis mirrors my earlier shrug. "That's enough. And maybe while you're there...you make a decision." 

"Or my cock does." 

He laughs. "Yeah, or that. Either way. You're allowed to get what you need, Arch." 

I take a breath, feeling it come into my lungs a little deeper than usual. That's probably a good sign. And I know he's right. Devon has been right for weeks, the rest of them are right too. Everyone except for me knows that it's OK to move on. But he's right too that I don't have to do that immediately. Meeting with Aria doesn't automatically mean sleeping with Aria, and it's good for the crew either way. 

"Tell Akart to forward that channel and those messages to my comms. I'll reach out to her myself." 

Sidonis smiles and nods. Not smug, just pleased. Almost relieved. He wasn't in here to prove something, he just wants to help. Like the rest of them. 

"And thanks, Sidonis," I add. "I, uh...yeah. Just thanks." 

"Anytime. You got a whole crew on your six, man. Give us a shot to earn your trust." Sidonis flashes one more smile and then steps out of the room. I stare at them for a moment after the door closes behind him, unsure what to do with myself now. It's odd to feel any of the weight, the cold, that's been a constant presence in my chest for six months lifting. I'm still not sure if I like it; the price feels like a distance from Shepard, and I don't know if I'm ready for that. 

But I am ready to do whatever I need to get information that could help the crew, including forming a connection with Aria. She's not criminal enough for me to shirk her assistance, but she's far enough into the dark side of Omega that she could be an invaluable resource. And...and she wants me. Maybe...

I shake my head and decide to start with a message to set up a meeting. My crew's mission is bigger than me, bigger than my grief and my lonely heart. I'll do whatever it takes to drive change on Omega. 

*****

After a few days of back and forth, and more than a little innuendo I try my best to ignore, Aria gives me the coordinates to a location where she wants to meet. I take another twenty-four hours to scope it out before agreeing to meet her. Devon knows immediately that the location is a by-the-hour hotel popular with people who travel to the Omega for weird sex, and we make sure with surveillance and some tech from Akart that Aria doesn't have a trap planned. I agree once I'm convinced that the only thing threatening me at that hotel is what might be on the sheets. 

Aria and I both agree not to bring more than one person for back-up, and we promise not to go in wired. The goal is to establish a relationship based on mutual trust so that we can exchange information and intel to benefit each of us. We have to go in vulnerable. I don't love it, but the payout will be worth the anxiety if Aria is even half as connected as she seems to be. 

I think Devon might have a heart attack before I even get through the door, though. "You have got to calm down, dude," I tease him while finishing the seals on my armor. He's been in my bedroom all morning, hovering and not trying to hide that he's hovering. "You encouraged me to do this, you know." 

"Yeah, that actually makes it worse. Now I'll feel guilty if you end up dead." He smirks when I shoot him a glare. "You have spare ammo? Your Omni-Tool? Condoms?"

"I am not taking condoms." Devon scoffs at that and stands, going into his pocket and pulling out a string of foil wrappers - Turian condoms individually perforated and ready to go. And in his sweatpants? "You just carry those around the apartment all the time? What do you think is going to be happening here?" I put my hand up quickly before he can speak. "Don't. Don't answer that." 

"Smart boy. But you're taking these. Better safe than sorry, right?"

I scowl at him but grab them. I'm going to convince myself that it's to shut Devon up, but it's because he's right. If something happens...

"Nothing is going to happen," I tell both of us. I'm not ready. I'm not interested. I'm... "I gotta go." 

Devon follows me out of the bedroom, right on my heels. The entire crew is here, which is quickly becoming the norm around here, and they take up a lot of space. They also usually make a shit ton of noise, but at the moment, they're nearly silent. Dhelem stands, ready to go with me and already geared up. "You're not going to leave him, right?" Devon asks the Batarian. 

"Not until they start getting naked, buddy," he responds, patting Devon's shoulder. I just roll my eyes, well beyond trying to convince any of them that I'm not going to this meeting with any interest in sex. It's just easier to be quiet. Though I am grateful Devon didn't give me the condoms that are now in my pocket in front of the whole crew. 

"Don't kill anyone without me," I tell them before departing. I catch Butler's eye on my way out the door and flash my eyes toward Devon; the other human on the crew nods one and gives me a little smile. I trust him to keep an eye on Devon while I'm gone, in case the little guy starts to panic. He's kind of protective, and it's kind of adorable. 

Dhelem is quiet while we head to the hotel, back in the part of the station where Devon and I used to live. That really only makes me feel grosser about where I lived for months. But Dhelem is never quiet, and it does nothing to ease my constantly growing anxiety. Every step increases my nausea; it'll be a miracle if I don't end up throwing up all over Aria. 

I swear the condoms in my pocket weight more than the rifle on my back. It's a constant reminder of every flirty word and double entendre Aria sent me over the last few days. She has an expectation that she's going to get laid, and I have a feeling that Aria isn't using to getting turned down. I'm not scared to do it, I don't think she's a creep, but I don't know how I'll react to her in person. Hell, some of the shit she said was enough to get me going through e-mail. And every second of that - and every inch of it - came with guilt. 

An available woman wants me, and I'm thinking about bailing. I barely even recognize myself anymore, and I definitely don't like this version of me.   
I shake it off and focus as we reach the hotel. We get nearby, both of us scanning the area, when a Turian I don't recognize approaches me and asks, "You got another smoke, man?" 

I nod, hand him a cigarette that I light for him, and then wait until he disappears into an alley to follow him. That was our code; this must be Grizz, Aria's guard.  
Grizz is leaning outside a door, not hiding the way he’s checking me out. Dhelem notices it, too, and he tries to hide his laugh behind a cough. He tries and fails, but Grizz doesn’t seem to mind. Fortunately, he can be all business.

“You’ll get a room number and code from Aria on a secure channel,” he tells me, doing something on his own 'Tool. The rasp in his voice seems even deeper and even raspier when it echoes a little in the alley. I refuse to check him out; this is bad enough as it is. I hear a click and he motions to the door into the hotel with a nod. "You go in alone. He stays with me." 

I can feel Dhelem's anxiety at that, and I know that Devon will lose his shit if I tell him I even thought about going in alone...but I'm thinking about going in alone. I turn to my teammate. "Message me in five minutes. I don't answer, you start shooting." 

"Deal." 

We both look to Grizz, who looks totally calm and jerks one shoulder up quickly. "Whatever." His casual attitude about it puts me at ease and I force myself to walk through the door without thinking about it anymore. I've done more than enough to prepare; time to get this done. 

Once inside, I get a message from Aria and then follow holograph signs on the walls to the hotel room. Most of the signs are broken or flickering, the hallway smells like a mix of cigarettes and a strip club, and at least one entire hallway has no lighting. The place makes my skin crawl, and yet, I can feel my temperature rising with every set, anticipation setting in. 

It's an excitement I haven't experienced since the last time I rode the elevator up to meet Shepard in her quarters, one that I didn't think I could feel again. It's a thrill unique to approaching someone you know wants you, sexual tension building before you even get into the same room so that your heart is thumping hard by the time you arrive. And by the time I reach the hotel room where Aria is waiting, my mouth is a little dry. My brain might not be sure about what I want to see happen in there, but my body damn sure is. 

I use the code on my Omni-Tool to unlock the door instead of knocking and again march right through without giving myself time to think about it. 

The hotel room is a matchbox, the entire space dominated by a bed that's too large for the square footage. It's fairly obvious what the room is intended for, based on that. Aria is standing at the end of the bed, and I find myself a weird combination of relieved and disappointed that she's not naked or wearing lingerie. She really doesn't have to put forth the effort, though.

Aria is wearing white, which makes the almost sapphire shade of her skin stand out and glow, and the cut of the top does a lot for her breasts. Her body is almost nothing but curves, and in an outfit much more modest than I've seen on most Asari, she oozes sex appeal. The cocky smirk on her face and the sharp lines of her facial tattoos only adds intensity to that. It's nearly intimidating. It's definitely tempting. 

This is a woman of power, and I can't miss the similarities to the last woman to turn me on like this. I know what she needs, what she wants, and I know I could give it to her. 

"Wasn't sure you'd show," she purrs, sitting down on the bed and leaning back on her elbows. It's not overt, and it doesn't have to be. She's going to undo me if I let her. And that's just not who I am. 

_Take control, Vakarian. ___

__I have to stop trying to ignore her sexuality and my attraction to it. It only makes her harder to resist, puts her in control. Neither of us wants me submissive and nervous. It's not natural to me, anyway. I'm going to remind this woman who she's dealing with. Archangel is not weak.  
I step further into the room and lean against the dresser, crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes dart to my biceps for just a moment, and my visor registers a brief spike in her heart rate. Aria isn't the only person in the room who knows how to use their sex appeal. _ _

__"Wasn't sure you could make it worth it," I tell her, keeping my voice low. "Still aren't, but I figured you could have a chance."_ _

__"A chance?" She barks out a laugh. "You know who I am to this station, so you must have a real quad talking to me like that."_ _

__"You know who I am, too, Aria. I wouldn't be here if you didn't." I give that a moment to stick in. "So why don't you cut the shit and tell me what exactly it is I'm doing here and what you can offer me?"_ _

__Aria tries to fight it for a moment, but I catch the smile that flashes across her face before she looks away to try and hide it. She grabs a datapad from the mattress beside her and waves it at me. "I know you have holes in your intelligence with the chain of command in every gang. I can give it to you."_ _

__"What makes you think I need to know that? If they're all dead, does the chain of command matter?"_ _

__"You're too good at this not to know the answer to that, Archangel. Especially since you're at the top of your own chain." And she's right; I am both at the top and too good. Knowing who’s at the top directs your targets. We won't waste ammo or time on low level ops and mercs if we know who is running things, who pays the rest of the gang, and who makes the call. A pawn is only useful if it can get you to a king._ _

__I want the information she's offering, and she knows it. But that doesn't mean she doesn't have to make it worth it for me._ _

__"I assume you're not giving it away." Her heart rate leaps again when I scan her slowly from fringe to high-heeled boot. Damn, those boots would look great over my - I clear my throat and stop my own thoughts before they run away from me. "So, what do you want from me?"_ _

__"Hmm. What's on the table?"_ _

__My smile at that is actually genuine. I like the way she operates. "If your information is worth it...the start of a mutually beneficial arrangement. You know as well I do that I can give you exactly what you're looking for, Aria."_ _

__"Oh, I don't doubt that." Her eyes scan me this time and I can almost feel the heat they leave behind. "You have opportunities I don't. You can go places I can't. So you have eyes and ears where I don't. All I'm asking is that you pass along anything you think I might consider interesting."_ _

__"How would I know what you consider interesting?"_ _

__She smiles and meets my gaze. "You'll give me what I'm looking for, remember?"_ _

__"Hmm." It's a fair deal. An intel exchange like this is fairly common. "How do I know you won't use the information I can give you against me? I know you don't officially operate in or with those gangs, but you can't tell me you don't benefit from them at least a little."_ _

__Her smile fades completely and becomes a deep scowl, her heart rate spiking for a totally different reason this time. "Those gangs are run by over-testosteroned assholes with a complex about the size of their dicks. They can't stand knowing that a woman is running the station. Hell, even the Eclipse Sisters have an issue with me."_ _

__"Your dick bigger than theirs, too?"_ _

__"Ha! Something like that." I can tell she appreciates a tiny bit of tension relief, but I don't want to calm her down completely. She is even sexier when she's pissed, and it's kind of nice to let myself enjoy it for a bit. "I don't benefit from their ops; they use their ops to try and undermine me. I don't allow off-station weapons trade, I don't allow drug manufacturing, and I most definitely do not allow slavery. I don't have to tell you that they try it anyway. Most of the time they operate them under the radar, but they're all cocky enough to make sure I know at least some of it. You can help me learn the rest, and I can help you make them pay."_ _

__I wonder if I would be half as successful as Archangel if I were a woman. If my teammates would have joined and given me leadership so eagerly, if the civilians on the station would respect me. Women on every station and of every species have to fight harder than they should; Shepard certainly did. So I don't doubt Aria, not for a second. I'm rapidly developing quite a bit of respect for her, and I'm genuinely considering working with her for the first time._ _

__"Trial basis," I tell her. "I'll give you a piece of information to use and see what you do with it. If you're pleased with the intel and I like how you respond, we keep working together, and you can thank me with that list." I motion to the datapad with the names she promised._ _

__"Trial basis. You have a deal."_ _

__Aria leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The position gives an even better view of her cleavage and brings to mind thoughts of the woman on her knees, using her..._ _

__I take another deep breath, forcing myself to calm. I don't need her to watch me get a hard-on. Shit, that thought didn't help at all._ _

__"So...was intel all you came here for, Archangel?" she asks, obviously not one to beat around the bush. "I'm usually pretty good at reading what people want from me, but you...I can't read you. And since I don't like to play games..." She stands and takes one slow step toward me. "Tell me. Do you want me?"_ _

__And in an instant, it's like I'm a child again. A fledgling with no experience instead of a grown man who has had lovers across species for decades. My mouth goes dry, my heart thumps, and all the blood in my head rushes right to my dick. I forget how to use words apparently too and just stammer at her. It's like an out of body experience._ _

__Aria laughs after a moment, ending my torture. "Wow. I gotta admit...I had expectations. I mean, usually when a guy looks like you," she motions at me in a circular motion to encompass all of me, "he's got some experience."_ _

__I can feel my throat flush. I'm not sure whether or not she meant it as a challenge, but it's hard not to take it that way._ _

__"We have a business arrangement," she sighs, pushing to her feet. "But I guess you can't deliver everything I'm looking for."_ _

__The Asari narrows her eyes at me and cocks her hip. In that instant, she becomes intensely familiar. Cocky, strong, sexy as hell, a woman in charge. And wanting me. This isn't a woman to be conquered; dominating her is going to be an adventure we'll both enjoy. It's been almost a year since I had anyone, any comfort, any of the warmth even a casual lover brings. Almost a year since I was dumped and then abandoned._ _

__Shepard isn't here. I'm suffering, pushing on without her. But Aria is here. And I'm damn well going to show her what I can deliver._ _

__I catch her arm as the Asari moves to walk past me to leave the room. She stops and looks up at me, and when I meet her eye, Aria tilts her head back to expose her throat to me. She submits. And instantly, my body becomes familiar once again. For Archangel, second nature is holding a sniper rifle. But Garrus Vakarian is still in here somewhere, and this I can do._ _

__"I'm not dating you," I inform her._ _

__"No, you're not. I don't have any interest in dating," she replies. "You're wearing a condom."_ _

__"And anyone else you're fucking will wear a condom, too."_ _

__Aria smirks. "Wanna meet them?" My cock twitches mercilessly in my pants._ _

__"Maybe another time. For now..." I yank Aria toward me by the arm I'm holding, bringing her flush up against me. Her body is soft, warm, and pliable and the little gasp she lets out is everything. I chase away any awareness of that cold in my chest with all my focus on Aria. She's here, alive and wanting, and not going to break my heart._ _

__I lose myself in Aria, sparing time once to consider whether or not Dhelem is still waiting after our third round. And when it's over, I don't want to stay. I don't want her to ask me to stay or to tell me about her life. We're both spent, both satisfied, and both going home with our dignities intact._ _

__Aria and I part at the hotel room door, and Dhelem is in the alley. He can't hide his shit-eating grin, but he knows better than to say anything on the walk back. It's not until we're almost back at the apartment that he asks, "How was it?"_ _

__"We have a deal."_ _

__It's all I can think to say. It's really all I can think about what just happened at all. It was...good. She's as hot as I knew she would be, a powerful challenge and a solid partner. It was a relief, too. The time I just spent in her arms was the only time in almost a year that I didn't have Shepard in the back of my mind, and the thoughts of Shepard come with nothing but pain._ _

__That was what I needed. But now that it's over..._ _

__I was warm with Aria up against me, but now that there's no one underneath me, that cold in my chest is like ice penetrating my heart. There's no one with me at all now; Shepard's presence feels...distant. Missing._ _

__I can remember Aria's moans and the way she begs, but it's drowned out in my mind by the metallic clink of Shepard's tags bouncing against my carapace. The darkness at the back of my mind looms and threatens, back with a vengeance after being silenced by a focus entirely and exclusively on my physical pleasure.  
I've strained the only remaining connection to Shepard I had, and now I'm losing memories of the only thing that's given me any relief. If I have neither, the darkness is all that's left. _ _

__I remember the way that gun felt in my mouth, the sharp metallic taste of the barrel on my tongue. The thought simultaneously terrifies and excites me. And it's that excitement I know I should really be afraid of._ _

__I can't be like this. And I can't be fucking all the time either. I can't..._ _

__I need a fucking drink._ _

__*****_ _

__Some things get easier after Aria. It's easier to find someone to warm my bed, to get a couple hours of relief from my own mind. It's not as dark if I'm not alone, and there is always someone willing._ _

__We have missions. We work on dismantling operations for the Blue Suns, the Blood Pack, and Eclipse systematically, and we're wildly successful. Between the crew, we have all the skills needed to hit them from every angle. We're steadily gaining support and popularity from the citizens on Omega, and our notoriety with the gangs increases by the day. Things are going as well as they can be._ _

__The crew gets along. They're like a family. And I never feel part of it, no matter how hard they try to include me because I'm constantly missing something. Someone. I don't know how to form full connections when I'm hollow. It's easier to form hollow connections._ _

__I find those in strangers and at the bottom of the bottle. And I find myself partaking in those more and more often._ _

__There is always someone willing. At first, I stick with just Aria. It's easier since we have an agreement. And she really does have useful information; plus she's pretty damn good in bed. She brings Grizz in after a few of our nights together, and then he and I hook up on our own once. And that night, I realize I can't be satisfied with just them. So I find more._ _

__Turians, Asari, a Batarian guy, a few Salarian, and even a Drell - which is the only sexual experience I have ever had that goes to completion and is still horrible. Lesson learned with that one. And then I spot a human...only the second one ever to catch my attention._ _

__I'm not stupid. I know why. The human, a man who is probably about my age, has red hair and green eyes. He's a merc, so he's well built. He has experience with Turians, so he touches me the right way, feels the way I want him to against me. I can close my eyes and pretend it's her, and it's like ascending. For a moment, I think I've found both relief from the pain of her loss and someone who could replace her, at least in feeling._ _

__And then he kisses me._ _

__This human tastes nothing like Shepard. He smells nothing like Shepard. But I was using him to replace her._ _

__It hits me then that I was using all of them to replace her._ _

__I was replacing my bondmate, and it put a far too tenuous strain on my connection to Shepard's remaining presence. I throw that human out and try my hardest to sense her, to smell her, to feel her near me. And she's gone. Shepard is gone even from my mind. I threw everything I had left with her away to try and get a cheap replacement._ _

__Devon has to pull me out of the shower and out of the bottle in the morning. I want to make a joke about role reversal, but the disappointed look on his face breaks my spirit. I confess it all to him, I let him hold me, I try not to keep drinking._ _

__"You weren't trying to replace her," Devon argues. "You were trying to move on. And maybe it's time for that. Maybe you're feeling like this because it started to work and because you feel guilty about it." He catches my gaze and repeats, "Maybe?"_ _

__"Yeah...yeah, maybe."_ _

__That's why I don't feel her as strongly. Because I'm leaving her behind. And when I do, when I'm with someone else, it eases all that pain. The pain that I have because...because I won't let her go._ _

__"I don't know if I want to move on," I confess, my voice breaking. "I don't know...if I want to let her go."_ _

__"I don't know if you can keep living like this, Arch." I can tell he feels bad about even saying, but he's right._ _

__A knock on the door startles Devon, but I just look up when Dhelem and Sidonis come in. "You alright there, big guy?" Sidonis asks. "Sorry," he corrects immediately when I wince. "You're just...large." That manages to drag a laugh out of me._ _

__"We saw that human guy take the walk of shame," Dhelem tells me. "Well...I guess it was more like a run of shame. He could not get out of here fast enough, man. I'm guessing it didn't go well."_ _

__I wince again. "Yeah...I don't think I was very nice when I told him to go." My memory of the whole thing is fairly foggy since I was absolutely trashed after drinking almost an entire bottle of Ryncol before even getting to the bar. I'm pretty sure I pushed the guy off me forcibly, though, and then threatened his life if he didn't get the fuck out. I'll have to apologize. Or never see him again. Preferably the latter._ _

__"Look, man, we know you're going through it, and believe me, we're hurting for you," Sidonis says. "But the last few weeks...you've been almost out of control. What's going on?"_ _

__I want to tell him to fuck off. I also just want to tell someone._ _

__"It's been a year since I lost her. A year last week." A harsh laugh escapes me, and I add, "And Christmas is coming," even though two of the three people listening won't understand that at all._ _

__"It feels like we're gonna lose you," Devon says softly, resting his head on my shoulder and pressing closer to my side. I don't fight him, wrapping an arm around his waist and soaking in the non-threatening warmth._ _

__"Maybe you'd be better off." That one gets me a smack from Devon; I probably earned it._ _

__Dhelem shakes his head. "Man, we have some big missions coming up soon. We need you to lead them. And I don't really care if that puts pressure on you to not fucking die, because you should not fucking die." Sidonis explodes into honest giggles at that it becomes contagious almost immediately, the laughter making my head throb, but I don't care at all._ _

__He's right. I have a purpose. Maybe it's really what brought me here, what Shepard's presence wanted me to do all along. And I'm not about to throw that away. We have work to do. I have to move on._ _


	8. The Past

Things go back to normal for a while once I pull my head out of my ass and my dick out of everything that moves. After I spend a few days sober, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. It never would have worked, trying to hide from my pain in other people.

I can’t hide from it. I am a bonded Turian without his mate, and that will always hurt.

But I’m also Archangel, and I have work that matters and a team that needs me. And throwing myself into that work helps in a different way than throwing myself into a bottle did. It doesn’t numb the pain as effectively, no, but it does make me feel useful. Accomplished. Valuable in some way, even if it’s not to her.

I have purpose, and that purpose gives me strength to move on. Or at least move forward.

And Aria is still around for fuck occasionally. We both benefit from that arrangement, and the advantages are seen almost instantly. Yes, the crew may have been right; I'm in a better mood when I'm getting laid even semi-regularly. I get darker when I have to do without it, and I'm not about to unpack that baggage, especially when I don't have to. Aria doesn't seem to have any complaints, and so neither do I. The partnership is beneficial in other ways as well; Aria can keep her boot on the throat of the gangs operating on her station without any of them wise to her source of information on their potential threats to her, and I can stay abreast of all their movements from above and below their radar. 

With Aria's help, by the time Christmas has come around, we have put a dent in all of the gang operations on Omega. The citizens here are living noticeably freer lives, and free commerce is becoming a stable and driving force. Omega could pull a profit in a few years if this keeps up; I'd love to see what the Council might think of that. With information from Aria, and her silent backing to take whatever means are necessary without repercussions from the queen of Omega, we are prepared to amp up our own operations. Archangel is going big time with the gangs in my crosshairs. 

It's not all easy. It's not always easy. The few days around Christmas are a mixed bag. I get stuck vacillating between being pissed at Shepard for leaving me and daydreaming about what that holiday might have been like for the two of us. They're two sides of the same coin, and that coin is a big platinum chunk of self-loathing. 

Thoughts of Shepard, when I'm coherent, bring on thoughts of our friends and my family as well. I abandoned that crew for this one; no one from the Normandy even knows where I am. I wonder if Joker recovered fully from his injuries, I wonder if Wrex and Tali ever needed help with their people, I wonder if Dr. Chakwas is being treated well by whatever crew she's part of now. They'll never be able to update me; I'll never know how their lives turn out because I won't risk them finding me. Memories of Shepard are hard enough in my head; I can't have them walking around in the form of the crew we served on together and the friends we shared for a year. 

My family...thoughts of them hurt. I know that Solana must have gone out of her mind with worry when she realized that I left Spectre training, quit C-Sec for good, and disappeared. She must have told my mom, my nieces and nephews, my sisters in law that I was gone. The thought of them crying breaks my heart, but I won't do anything about it. I can picture my oldest brother scouring every corner of the galaxy he has access to in a search for me; he'd never just write me off, but he'll never find me. I can also picture my father; I wonder if he was even surprised that this, whatever he thinks came of me, is how his greatest disappointment turned out.   
But again, I'll never know. I won't contact them, I won't even let them know that I'm safe. And this time it's because I'm ashamed. 

Bonding wasn't my choice. I didn't even realize it had happened until it was too late, until she was gone for good. But it did happen. I'm a shell of a Turian not only because my bondmate died but because I bonded with someone from a species incapable of returning that bond. Stupid. Pathetic. A waste. My father's voice rings through my mind with each word, easily spewed from a man with his own bondmate. He isn't at risk for being abandoned, though. Even if my mother dies, my father got a lifetime of love. I got nothing. My reward is Omega. 

If I were to return or admit where I am and what I'm doing, I would shame the entire Vakarian clan. I refuse to let my foolish heart and my decisions be their demise. They may not see it, but they're better off without me. I'm no good to anyone off this station. I cannot be apart of any of their lives anymore. 

And so, when someone arrives on this station and starts asking questions about Archangel and Garrus Vakarian, I go on instant alert. That connection is dangerous for me, even if I'm the only one putting together the pieces of that puzzle at first. Whoever this is, they're a risk, and I'm either going to neutralize them or eliminate them. 

Akart starts monitoring our feeds for any sign of the person fitting this description. I set Yom'Jenna to chasing leads and, frankly, to stalking; the lithe Quarian can get in and out of anywhere almost entirely unseen. I get Devon to keep his ear to the ground. And it's only a couple days after I first started hearing these whisperings that the human comes to me with a name, with the identity of the person looking for me where no one should ever look. 

Liara T'Soni.

*****

I should probably feel bad for the way my team... _acquires _Liara. She was a teammate, after all, and a friend. Well, at least a friend to Shepard; I never got exactly close to the shy and naive professor. It didn't help that she was extremely intimate with Shepard right in front of me on multiple occasions and only served Shepard with a headache.__

__So maybe having Kana and Pem, the grim muscle of my team, literally grab Liara from the street, drag her down a dark alley, and bring her to our apartment blindfolded was just a little bit vindictive. And maybe a little bit unnecessary. And maybe I enjoy the video a little too much. And maybe I shouldn't save it. But I can't dwell on the maybes. After all, I have a squealing Asari being dragged into my apartment._ _

__"I don't...I don't know what you want," she screams and stammers, thrashing without actually impeding the Turian and Batarian dragging her into my living room, "but I don't have anything."_ _

__"Oh, I don't know about that," I reply, motioning for them to drop her on the couch. Liara goes silent in an instant, and I can see the wheels in her head turning. I know enough to know my voice is recognizable, but I leave her blindfolded for a moment before sitting on the table just in front of her. "You have quite a bit of Prothean knowledge in here. And I remember a dorky interest in archeology."_ _

__Liara surges forward so suddenly that she almost headbutts me in the face, and I have to grab her shoulders to protect myself. "Garrus! Garrus, you're..." She's stammering again, so I pull the blindfold off to put the poor thing out of her misery. "By the goddess!"_ _

__This time when she moves, she leaps forward so suddenly that I'm powerless to stop her, and I end up with an Asari plastered up against me._ _

__"Easy there, Professor," I tease, trying to console the girl who instantly starts sobbing for some reason I will never understand and simultaneously trying to figure out where to put my hands when she's practically straddling me. In front of just about my entire gang. I don't have a chance to figure it out before she shoves away from me and smacks me right across the face. Hard. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"_ _

__"Everyone thinks you are dead, Garrus Vakarian!" she shouts, shifting to stand so that she's almost taller than me and clearly trying to use her new height as an advantage. "Your friends - who had just gotten done mourning Shepard - had to mourn you. Do you have any idea what..." She trails off when her voice starts to crack, and my heart cracks with it._ _

__This time I pull Liara into me, standing so that she's safely against my chest. "OK, alright. Please breathe."_ _

__"We should go," I hear Devon mutter from the side of the room, trying to herd the others out of the room._ _

__Liara startles, just realizing that there are other people around, I think. "Oh, oh, goddess. I'm so sorry," she breathes, shaking her head and furiously wiping her eyes and cheeks. "I just...coming here to find you was a total shot in the dark, Garrus, I never actually thought...I mean, I really came for Archangel! And then here, here you are, and I am - "_ _

__"Liara, you're going to have to start taking breaths, or you will pass out," I advise her, genuinely pretty worried about her health at the moment. I think she might have a total breakdown. I shoot a quick glare around the room in warning; if any of them tells her right now that she did find Archangel, and that it's me, I don't think she'll survive it._ _

__"No, yes, you're right." She shakes her hands and her heads, pulling in a couple deep breaths, and then manages to look up to me with a smile. A real smile. Well, that's kind of nice from a familiar face. "It's...it's really good to see you, Garrus."_ _

__"It's good to see you, too, Liara." I open my arms cautiously, giving her a look that I hope is a clear warning that I do not want to be mauled or sobbed on again. She laughs and steps forward, lifting onto her toes so that she can hug me around the neck. Much better. And again, kind of nice. Familiar. But we have a problem. "Hey, Liara?"_ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__"You have to stop saying my name. Like, ever." She pulls back enough to give me a suspicious look. "I'm standing in front of you, but Garrus is dead. Anyone who thinks that needs to be allowed to think it."_ _

__"I...I, uh...what?"_ _

__I keep a grip on her arms just in case. "You found Archangel, Liara. And that needs to be the only name you - any of you," I add to the room, "use for me."_ _

__"You got it, Archie," Dhelem quips with an obnoxious wink that he follows up with an obscene gesture at Liara's ass._ _

__Even if he wasn't standing behind her, Liara likely wouldn't notice the gesture - which, if it's anatomically correct, would make it impossible for Dhelem to fuck anything but Krogan and Elcor. The Asari is too busy gawking at me, mouth and eyes gaping while her hands are starting to glow with biotics that I think she might not even be aware of._ _

__I grab her hands and squeeze gently. "Liara, I thought we were going to keep breathing, remember? Do you need a drink? Devon, could you grab us a glass of whiskey?" Liara falls backward this time, collapsing on the couch so quickly I don't have a chance to catch her. "Maybe the whole bottle. Liara, are you gonna make me smack you?"_ _

__"Oh, sign me up for that, Daddy," Devon teases even while heading for the kitchen to grab that bottle for me._ _

__Fortunately, it forces a laugh out of Liara, and that snaps her out of the mild panic I could see her slipping into. She leans forward a little, grabbing my hand this time. "By the goddess, Garrus, please don't drop any more surprises on me today. I don't think I'll survive it."_ _

__"Yeah, I thought you were gonna sic your biotics on me for a minute there." I motion to the hand on my arm, both of which are now glowing._ _

__"Oh! Sorry." The glow fades immediately, along with the very warm and far too pleasant tingle. "This is...kind of a lot."_ _

__"You're telling me. How do you even know about Archangel?"_ _

__She smirks, and her face flushes a bit. "I, uh...I'm not really working in archeology anymore. Or with Protheans at all. And my new job involves being...aware of things going on everywhere in the galaxy. Not just on Ilium...where I now live."_ _

__Now it's my turn to just gape for a moment. "Well, shit, Liara. It's only been, what, a year and a half since I left?"_ _

__"I just moved and got a new job - you died, you started a crew, and you're turning Omega on its head!"_ _

__I laugh at her and roll my eyes. "I did not die. Not really, anyway."_ _

__"I love that you're still rolling your eyes, Garrus." She says it sweetly, her voice getting softer, but it hits hard. Especially since she knows exactly who I got the move from. I get some comfort in seeing it hit Liara too, though; her gaze becomes pained. "Sorry, I...she's still on my mind often."_ _

__I try to respond to that, but my throat is too thick for words to get out. I just nod instead. It helps, though, to know that someone else is still missing her. That someone else looks like they're in physical pain at just the mention or memory of Shepard. Misery loves company; the one human idiom that actually translates across culture and species._ _

__Someone clears their throat and snaps me out of that. I stand, pulling Liara up with me and turning her to greet the crew. The entire crew. All of whom are staring at us and have been throughout this entire conversation. That's not awkward at all._ _

__"Uh, guys, this is Liara. We served on the same crew for a little while. Liara, this is...well, there's too damn many of them. You can all introduce yourselves. As long as you behave."_ _

__Dhelem, Pem, and every Turian male in the room smirks at me for that. Let's hope Liara learned how to handle herself on Omega._ _

__"Hey, Arch, you have..." Sertis motions to his Omni-Tool as a signal of the time for me._ _

__"Right. Liara, I have a...thing." Aria is waiting. Aria and Grizz, if I interpreted Aria's messages this morning correctly. "You're welcome to hang out here. Devon, protect her for me, please?"_ _

__Devon sidles up beside Liara just in time, wrapping his arm around Liara's shoulders, already assuming they'll be best friends, I'm sure. "I'll take good care of you." He waves the bottle of whiskey at me. "And I'll liquor this gorgeous piece here up so that I can get all your dirty little secrets."_ _

__"Oh, Gar...Archangel guards his secrets closely. If Joker were here, though..."_ _

__I point at Liara on my way to the door and warn her, "Not a word. Not a single story. Don't you dare say anything about day dates on virtual racetracks with pilots." I get the door shut just as Devon starts squealing, and it lets me leave with a smile. It doesn't stop my mind spinning, though._ _

__Liara T'Soni, in my apartment. On Omega. Using my real name, for fuck's sake. At least I can trust the entire crew to keep that quiet; they're all personally invested in Archangel being successful, and being anonymous is a big piece of that. And now with Liara waiting in my apartment, someone that I helped Shepard rescue and who served on Shepard's crew - someone that Shepard considered a friend - I'm off to meet Aria._ _

__We have business to discuss, me and Omega's Dark Madam. She needs to know about a few whispers among the Eclipse Sisters, and I need to know if she heard anything else on a new Blue Suns slavery ring I'm looking to shut down before it ever gets off the ground. But we've been working together for a few months now, and none of our business meetings have managed to be exactly business-specific. And when she plans to meet me this late at night, I'm fairly certain I know what she wants from me._ _

__My 'Tool dings and I open a voice message from Grizz, playing it through to my visor for privacy. "It's Grizz." I roll my eyes; he does his best to sound tough, but I can hear his subtones - aroused and submissive - over the call. "Aria wants you to meet us at Afterlife instead of the hotel. Our guys know to expect you, so they'll let you up. See you soon."_ _

__The club? It doesn't feel like good news. For one, I hate Afterlife. Everyone in there considers themself a stripper, and every one of them is trying their best to strip me. I also have some really awful memories in there. It probably also means that I'm not getting laid tonight, at least not unless I want to find someone else. Usually, I approach the after-meeting sex with Aria as a bonus, but this time, I was kind of eager._ _

__I know it has everything to do with Liara showing up. She felt so familiar. She's the only person I've encountered since living the Citadel who wasn't a stranger on sight, and her connection to Shepard makes it feel a little more...real. Liara is a living tie to Shepard, and I've actively been trying to reduce how tight a hold on me that tie has._ _

__Liara being around, if she plans to be around for any amount of time at all, could ruin any steps forward I've managed to take toward moving on or healing or whatever the hell it is I was doing. I don't want to fall into the hole of finding some strange again, but I do need something. Some comfort. I don't care if it's pathetic that I can't be alone for long and that I can't be alone at all if thoughts of Shepard come up, I'll go ahead and be pathetic while I'm balls deep in someone who deserves it._ _

__And if that someone is both Aria and Grizz in one night, I don't have any complaints at all._ _

__I might end up forced to find someone at Afterlife. Or maybe I should just finally give in and let Caeria get some. Shit, I'm really walking a razor's edge here.  
The Elcor guarding the door at Afterlife, and wrangling an impressively long line, is evidently expecting me. He gives me a nod when I walk past, and I try to ignore the rather blatant way he checks me out. I've never had an Elcor, and no matter how crazed I might be feeling tonight, ready to crawl right out of my plates, I have no intention of ever exploring that avenue. _ _

__I nod to the bartender, familiar though I don't know his name, and head straight past the dance floor. Afterlife has a number of small outcoves, hallways that lead to more hallways and private rooms for all manner of activity. But Afterlife also has something of a throne, and that is where Aria sits. At the very end of the club, on either side of a wall that I know is designed to make the sound more intense on the dancefloor, are two more little outcoves except that these lead to a central set of stairs behind that sound wall and up onto a platform overlooking the club._ _

__Usually, it's damn near impossible to get up these stairs. Aria absolutely always has one guard on either side, and a number of others stationed around the club though less noticeably. I watched footage of someone once dumb enough to try and get up to her throne without permission; six of Aria's goons surrounded and incapacitated the brave little idiot in less than twenty seconds. She's an Asari running arguably the most dangerous place in the galaxy; Aria doesn't take chances._ _

__So when I'm nodded at by the Batarian guarding the stairs and immediately granted access to the throne area, I can't help but feel a little special. And feeling special is not helping my levels of horny for the night._ _

__There is no actual throne, of course. The space overlooking the club is dominated by a massive sectional couch, white leather and ultra-modern. It's very Aria. The only other furniture is a small coffee table, used far more often for liquor than coffee. This is Aria's office, her meeting space, her throne room - when she doesn't want privacy, of course. Not that the patrons of the club can see her, but with the open air, it always feels like there are eyes and ears on you here._ _

__And when I walk in, the eyes and ears on me belong to Aria and Grizz. They're both on the couch already, their postures loose and their smiles relaxed. I'm sure the glasses in their hands help with that, but the attraction humming between the two of them helps, too. Grizz is far more than a bodyguard for Aria, and I'm rather grateful for that._ _

__"Uh-oh, someone is tightly wound," the Turian in question teases, eyeing me with a grin. Of course, he can hear my needs through my subtones. And I'd be encouraging him to take care of those needs if we weren't in public. OK, maybe I still want to anyway, but that's not a limit we've discussed. I might need to encourage that discussion, though._ _

__"I wonder if that has anything to do with your new friend." Aria is leaning against Grizz's side, her arm rested over the back of the couch, and one leg pulled up onto the cushion beside her. The position is totally casual and sexy as hell, but I'm much more interested in her words at the moment._ _

__"Impressive, even for you." Liara has only been at our apartment, and in Archangel's possession, for an hour, and Aria already knows about it. I take a seat on the couch on Aria's other side, close enough that she could touch me but not so close that I'm forcing it. "For what it's worth, she's an old friend. I think she needs something but didn't know exactly who Archangel was. And we didn't get around to the terms before I came to see you."_ _

__"So I pulled you away from that pretty blue thing?" Aria pokes out her bottom lip in an extremely tempting pout._ _

__I accept the glass of what looks like Turian ale Grizz hands me. "You know, I'm sure I could find some way for you make it up to me...if we'd somewhere else. Some reason you wanted to do this here?"_ _

__"Here?" she repeats, reaching out to run her hand over my thighs. "Here, where anyone can see us?" That strong blue hand slips further up my thigh, squeezing lightly while my dick leaps to life. "If we weren't here, Archangel," the Asari purrs, sliding closer and draping her leg over mine, "what would you need for me to make it up to you?"_ _

__I let my eyes drift down to her cleavage without trying to be subtle. I let her see me slip my tongue over my mandible. I want her to notice, but the reaction isn't for show. Especially tonight, Aria is exactly what I need, and I know she can deliver. And if she wants it right here, right now, where anyone in the club can see - where her guards are definitely watching, I have no problem with that. Let all of Omega know that Archangel does not get unmoored by any woman, and certainly not a dead one._ _

__We finally exchange information after the three of us are sated, Grizz still stroking my dick when Aria and I swap datapads. I'm barely aware of it, though. It's over now, and I have to go back home. And this is always the hard part._ _

__There was something about me that believed, even at the end - even when it ended - that Shepard and I would have a life together. I got to spend far too few nights in her bed, only a couple of nights comforted by her presence all night. And now, even when it's not Shepard and even when it's someone I don't want to spend the night with, going home to sleep alone is...cold._ _

__It might even be worse tonight because of who is in my house. Liara is here, a tangible reminder of Shepard. They had next to nothing in common, but Shepard and Liara were friends. I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at Liara and not think of Shepard. And tonight, that means going home ashamed that I smell like sex with another woman. A woman who is not the redhead I so desperately need._ _

__If Liara judges me, if she's disappointed in me for it, it'll feel like Shepard is. And I don't know how well I can handle that._ _

__Maybe I need to just get Liara the hell off of Omega. If she came looking for Archangel, she wants something from me. I can probably have someone on the team deal with it. I might even be able to have Aria deal with it. It's possible that I could avoid seeing Liara ever again. And hell, if she's going to out my identity, I'll airlock her with zero shame; no one is going to threaten my team._ _

__I have a feeling I'm not going to get so lucky as to be able to avoid Liara, though, and that gets confirmed when I arrive back at the apartment to find the Asari on the couch with Devon. The two of them are laughing like old friends and deep into what looks like at least a third bottle of wine. The Liara I knew was a lightweight, but this one seems at least functional still. Devon is slurring magnificently, and his smile seems big enough to split his face when his head drops back to look at me. "Hey there he is!" he shouts, lifting one arm over the couch for me._ _

__"Spirits, Devon, hush. I'm sure everyone else is sleeping."_ _

__"They are!" he stage whispers, somehow managing to be even louder this way. "They went to bed because...because YOU were out soooo long. Out of here, and," he pauses to giggle at himself, "inside Aria."_ _

__I can feel my throat go aflame, well aware that Liara's eyes snap to me instantly. The shame is like a smack in the face, my secret laid bare. I've never been ashamed of sex before but knowing that someone who knew what I was like with Shepard is aware that I fucked someone else makes every one of Aria's touches weigh on my conscious._ _

__"OK, it's time for you to go somewhere that no one can hear you," I tell Devon, walking around the couch and pulling the glass from his hands. He doesn't resist me and lifts his arms, whimpering pathetically. I might make him try to walk if I didn't think he'd throw up or faint on the walk to his bedroom. And besides, he weighs next to nothing._ _

__Devon is a little limp, but he manages to wrap his arms around my neck and rest his head on my shoulder. "You make me feel like a princess when you carry me like this," he coos, kicking his legs awkwardly._ _

__"Let's go to bed, Princess." I don't look at Liara when she laughs, not ready to face her yet, and instead take Devon into his bedroom. He's small and pliant enough that I can get him down to his shorts and into bed with little effort. "You must be trashed if you don't have a lot to say about me undressing you."_ _

__"You're mad at me," he slurs, managing to look like he's swaying even while he's lying down._ _

__I frown at him, though. "What would I be mad at you for?"_ _

__Devon does something like a shrug, and both of his arms end up flopping around. "Dunno. Told your friend...you and Aria."_ _

__"Ah. I'm not mad at you," I assure him, pulling the blanket up and tucking it in around him. "I'm mad at myself. A little. I don't know. Just go to sleep."_ _

__He raises his arms up to me, making grabby hand motions. "Gimme a kiss night-night." I appreciate him making me laugh and pat his head instead of going anywhere near him for a kiss. He rolls over with a smile and falls asleep in an instant, and I leave him, turning the light off on my way out._ _

__Liara is still on the couch, cleaning up the classes and bottles from her evening with Devon. "Don't worry about any of that," I assure her, waving her off. "Where are you staying, Liara?"_ _

__"A hotel. It's not that far from here."_ _

__"I'll walk you back." I want to get rid of her as soon as possible, but I'm not going to turn her loose on Omega this late at night. She might seem more worldly than she did the last time we met, but she's still Liara, and I don't want her facing the shit Omega has to offer on her own. Fortunately, Liara seems grateful and doesn't make me argue. She doesn't seem thrilled that I keep my armor on and carry my rifle. Still naive for sure. "So, tell me what you've been up to."  
If she knows that I'm trying to keep her from asking me about what Devon said, she doesn't call me out on it. Besides, Liara has a pretty interesting story to tell. _ _

__She left the Citadel a couple weeks after Shepard's funeral, which I knew; she had tried her best to be around for me and for Joker, and we both rejected her. Liara is too kind to say it like that, though. She tells me that she tried to return to her old job, to searching for answers about Prothean society among ruins, but it didn't feel the same. "You called me naive once, and it stuck with me because you were right."_ _

__I called Liara naive a lot more than just once, but I choose not to point that out to her now._ _

__"I was at the university on Ilium, and one day, someone came in looking for help. They needed to find research on a very rare, very old, and very valuable artifact that may or may not have existed. I poured myself into it. I needed something, anything to feel like I was doing something."_ _

__"Yeah. I know something about that." It surprises me a little to know that Liara does, though. I knew she liked Shepard, looked up to her. But I didn't know she cared this much. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention. Or maybe I've just refused to believe that anyone else is dealing with what I am so that I could isolate myself even further._ _

__And now here Liara is staring me in the face._ _

__She gives me a sympathetic smile and then hooks her arm around mine, leaning lightly into my side while we walk. My first instinct is to push her away, but when I allow it...it's kind of comforting. Even more so, I think, because she did know Shepard. She's a living tie to Shepard. I let her walk with me while she continues with her story._ _

__"Anyway, it paid off. I chased down a dozen channels and leads, I learned a lot about how to manipulate the channels I did have to reach ones I should have had, and I got the artifact. The guy then offered to hire me as an information broker, and I accepted. I work for myself now."_ _

__"You work on Ilium as an information broker." I laugh, genuinely surprised, and more than a little bit impressed._ _

__"It seems almost impossible, doesn't it?"_ _

__"Almost."_ _

__We slow, reaching her hotel. It's not the worst part of Omega, but I still don't like it, and I insist on making sure she gets into the door. Liara might have changed a lot, but I'm willing to bet she's still the naive, sheltered professor I knew, and I'm not letting her mugging - or worse - rest on my conscious._ _

__Liara doesn't release my arm until we're standing in front of her hotel room door. "Do you, uh...did you wanna come in for a drink? The mini bar is a little suspicious, but I'm sure there's something in there."_ _

__She laughs, and it's the kind of laugh I recognize. The kind of laugh I've come to know too well. And the kind of laugh that tells me what's coming next._ _

__"Liara, I...it's probably best if I just go." A walking tie to Shepard. Being with Liara would be..._ _

__"Right, of course. You're right. I just..." She clears her throat and shakes her head, a flush coming to her cheeks that I refuse to let myself acknowledge. "I do still have the information I wanted to give Archangel. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"_ _

__"Oh, yeah. I'd almost forgotten about that." Because seeing Liara was a shock, and then fucking Aria was a distraction. So much for Archangel being on the top of his game. "You want to come back over tomorrow? I'd prefer you told the whole squad."_ _

__Liara smiles and leans on her door. "That seems familiar to the last squad you were on."_ _

__"Yeah. Maybe I learned a thing or two." My hand finds the back of my fringe and rubs, an effort to get rid of my thoughts when they want to dwell on the non-mission things Shepard taught me. Like how to kiss. How soft humans are. And those thoughts, in a hallway in the middle of the night with a woman who wants me, are going to be dangerous._ _

__Liara would be a mistake. No matter how comforting being that close to someone with a connection to Shepard would be._ _

__"I'll have one of my crew come back tomorrow," I tell her, hoping my voice sounds normal still. "They'll walk you back to our apartment."_ _

__"I'm capable of walking on my own. And if anyone was going to take me for a walk, I would prefer that it were you."_ _

___Do not think about Liara on a leash, Vakarian, don't you dare. ____ _

____"I can try to come back, but I have a few things I need to handle in the morning." Liara's eyes narrow just enough that I know she wants to know if I'm handling the same sort of thing in the morning that I did tonight, the thing that Devon confessed to her for me. They don't narrow in an accusatory way, though. Yet another thing I'm choosing to ignore today._ _ _ _

____"I understand if you can't; I'm aware of how busy Archangel is these days."_ _ _ _

____I manage to smile at that. "I'm sure you are. Dr. T'Soni, the big shot information broker."_ _ _ _

____"Just doctor will do, thank you very much." She laughs and shakes her head at me, but turns to open the door at least. And I feel a lot less awkward now. Although still very aware that I'm going to be alone, despite having had sex earlier tonight. And I really used to prefer sleeping alone. Shepard ruined me, and it still isn't getting any better._ _ _ _

____I step away from Liara, needing the space. "I'll, uh...see you tomorrow. Looking forward to what an information broker has for me."_ _ _ _

____"And I can't wait to see what Archangel can do for me."_ _ _ _

____Oh, crap._ _ _ _


	9. The Future

There is a lot more that goes into taking down smuggling rings than just actually stopping the movement. And that's especially true when the smuggling deals in humans. Logistics has to be part of the equation if we're going to continue dismantling the Blue Suns’ human trafficking and slavery operations. And if there is one operation I am personally dedicated to taking down on this hellish station, it's that one. 

I see Melody's face in every child we stop them from taking or selling. I can hear Talitha screaming, can see Shepard caught in a nightmare every time we break girls and women out of cages or boxes. And it happens far too often. 

So if we're going to destroy the trafficking operations once and for all, we need to hit them from every angle. That means logistics, and some of my team specializes in that; Pem, Akart, and Yom'Jenna are experts in making very large machines - like the shuttles the Suns want to use to transport innocent people into the sex slave trade - fail to work. It also means financial, and information from Liara ends up being extremely useful for that; Devon threatens to bathe naked in chits from all the credits we take from them. 

And that leaves their leadership. Liara comes in handy there, too, especially when combined with what we know from Aria. The gangs like to hide who is running them, and where those leaders live, how they move around, what they're directly involved in. With help from both Asari and using our surveillance network, I learn that while the Blue Sun leader, Tarek, is almost untouchable and never participates directly in their ops, his brother is a different story. 

Jaedal isn't just Tarek's brother, and he's not just a key player in the entire Blue Suns organization. He is the point man for any and all of the Blue Suns human sex slavery and trafficking operations. The trail to prove that starts, oddly enough, on Ilium. That planet prides itself, much like the Asari who settled it, as the jewel of the galaxy, but I'm finding scum under the glitter without having to dig very far. Jaedal has been visiting Ilium to scope out, groom, and take innocent people who run out of money on Ilium into slavery. Including a fourteen-year-old girl last week that he...kept. 

It's going to be a pleasure to put a bullet directly between his eyes. 

Setting up an operation, and coordinating a team of 12 - including me, not including Devon or Liara - is becoming second nature. I know this team. I know their strengths, and I know what they prefer to do. I know who they work best with, who get they distracted by. And I know that they're loyal to me. Setting up an operation in front of someone who used to watch the great Commander Shepard set up ops is more than a little intimidating. 

I do my best to avoid Liara's gaze all day, even though she's hovering. And I can't complain about the hovering since she's been so helpful. I should be able to complain about her cleavage distracting at least half my team all day, but I can't blame them for that. Mostly because I'm having a little trouble not being distracted too. The fact that Aria has chosen today to torture me with pictures far more graphic than Liara's top could ever manage is not helping. 

There is a part of me, however, that is...almost proud of myself. I'm finally getting honestly and truly aroused by and attracted to other women. Not just out of spite or a primal need to fuck something but because of attraction. I wasn't sure that would ever be possible, not with a dead bond-mate. But it's happening. And that has to be a good thing. 

It'd be nice if I could be attracted, be aroused, without feeling at least a little guilty for it. 

What would Shepard think of this? A woman texting me pictures of herself that are far less than tasteful, my eyes managing to find Liara's tits wherever they are in the room all day... Would she be mad? Jealous?

And then the inevitable scolding myself because who gives a shit if Shepard would be mad? She isn't here. She forfeited a say even before she died, but she is dead. And if I'm going to survive, I should get to enjoy at least some of it. Almost two years after and I barely manage normalcy most days. Shepard would definitely not be happy about that. 

"You OK?" I startle when Sidonis plants his hand on my shoulder. His hand shifts to the back of my fringe which he cups affectionately. It's odd, after not having been touched that way for so long, but I don't find that I want to resist it. He's a good friend. "What the story with that one?" he asks, sitting beside me and motioning with his gaze toward Liara. "If I didn't know more of the story, I'd think she was the girl you lost." 

"No, definitely not. But...they were close enough that she's bringing up memories." 

He makes a soft sound, deep in his chest. "Memories and something else, I think. You know, it's normal, right?" I frown at him and his subtones become almost aroused. Almost. They're still mostly sad, and I kind of appreciate it. It doesn't make me feel pity. "To want that comfort. That...connection. For both of you." 

"No, I don't know that it's normal. And I don't think I could ever touch her without seeing...her." 

"What's so wrong with that?"

Now I openly scoff at him. "Sidonis, everything is wrong with sleeping with a woman while you're thinking of another one." 

"OK, fine, let me reword it. What's so different about that than every other woman, man, and Drell you've slept with for the few months?" He gives me a hard look that keeps me from objecting. That keeps me from lying. 

He's not wrong. Every one of them has had something that was...Shepard-esque. With Aria, it's the attitude. Sometimes it's the dancing or even a scent. With Liara...it's feeling like she is Shepard. Because she knows Shepard. Hell, she joined with Shepard. Maybe if I... No.

"Don't separate the Drell, that's rude to him." Sidonis laughs at my super weak attempt at diversion but doesn't push it and follows me off the couch. I sat down to clean my rifle, and now I'm done. 

I'm ready to go. I'm ready to kill. 

*****

I am not ashamed of ordering the crew to take their time with taking down Jaedal's crew, and Jaedal himself. We could have ended it pretty quickly; my rifle could have had Jaedal down before he ever saw us coming. But these assholes work in capturing people, stripping them of all their power and all their dignity, and then selling them to the highest bidder. They put children into sex work. So I take pleasure in putting several bullets into Jaedal, to ensure a slow death. 

He dies screaming, and I have no regrets. I only wish I could be there when Tarek learns that his brother is dead and the magnitude of the hit his smuggling operation just took. I hope Tarek knows that this moves him to the top of my list. 

The team is rejoicing, celebrating, and they should be. It's a big deal. And I consider taking an open invitation with Aria to celebrate. Until Liara stands in front of me with a bottle of very expensive whiskey from Palaven that she most definitely did not get on Omega. "Share a drink with me?"

It starts that way. Simple and innocent, sharing a bottle. It starts easy. Liara is a lot more engaging and charming than I remember her being. She makes me laugh. It's nice to be able to share stories and memories without just horrible pain. Even with a little happiness. Bittersweet, sure. But I haven't had any sweet in a long time. 

My crew gets too rowdy in the living room, and it's either the whiskey or the nostalgia that convinces me to take Liara into my room so that we can finish our bottle in private. It seems like a good idea at first. I can hear her, I can talk without an audience - even of people I trust. And I can ignore the way Devon looks at me before the door shuts. 

At least until Liara touches me. It's like I blink and her hand is suddenly on my thigh. It's warm, soft, and comforting. Familiar. But...it's Liara. 

She sees my decision before I even make it and jerks her hand back, almost hiding it behind her on my bed instead. "I'm...I'm sorry. That was inappropriate." 

"No, Liara, it's...it's OK. I just. I can't." 

"I understand." She forces out a little laugh, her face still flushed. "I can look at you and see something else, Garrus. I look at you, and I..." 

"See her." 

Liara nods, and something in my chest clicks together. She's suffering in a similar way. Grieving someone that she lost, grieving being lonely because that loss was our entire crew. The family we had. And I have a new one now, but it'll never be the same. 

And I can have other people in my bed now, but it'll never be the same. 

But Liara…

I want that comfort. I want to feel close to Shepard, and I want to know that someone else who feels close to Shepard and is also hurting is getting the comfort. And that's how my hand ends up on Liara's thigh. That's the unspoken agreement. It's not about Liara, it's not about either of us. It's about comfort. Comforting each other over a loss that we share. 

There's something familiar about Liara, even if she's not exactly who I want. But it's the unfamiliar things that let me relax. Liara is shy. She's a little tense and a lot cautious, and it's different from anyone else. Even when Shepard was self-conscious, she knew what she was doing. Liara needs instruction. Liara wants to completely submit. And while sometimes I enjoy a challenge, tonight...tonight, I need this. 

Liara needs it too if the way she enjoys it suggests anything. The meek Asari professor never flinches or shows fear, and I don't push her for anything too crazy, but she lets me take whatever I need. And she gives it willingly. 

And the entire time, she's there comforting me. There are times when I'm with Aria that I lose focus. That I see a little too much of the other person, the one I'm supposed to be with, and Aria knows how to ground me. She knows how to bring me back, how to touch or scratch or pull to snap me back into the present. It works, it's effective. But with Liara...her methods are softer. Gentler. Comforting. 

She nuzzles her face against the side of mine, she runs her fingers between the ridge of my fringe, she tugs the tags that hanging between us gently. It's not a rejection of Shepard, it's an acceptance of what this is. 

And what this is...is a little awkward. Yes, it's nice to be so comforted. To be close to Shepard, and also to Liara who has been a friend. But it's a little underwhelming overall. And that's a little frustrating. I wanted comfort and a connection. I got exactly one of those. Liara and I do not have a sexual connection, not by any stretch of the imagination. Liara has an orgasm and I still feel lacking. We just...don't connect. 

That's probably for the best, though. There isn't a future here, there is nothing meaningful happening. I'm bonded to a dead girl and leading a hit squad on Omega, Liara has a career on Illium. And really, it would be too weird. But knowing that the sex is lackluster at best helps. She's going to leave, and I'm going to appreciate what we did here, but I won't have to miss her. I won't grieve her. 

I needed this. I needed the comfort, I needed to be close to someone from that phase of my life even if just for a short period of time. By the next morning, when Liara is getting on a shuttle off of Omega, I feel somehow more secure as Archangel. In getting closer to that part of my life, I manage to find a way to truly leave it behind. Omega is my life now, Archangel is my future. 

I'm going to see out my mission here. I have a lot to do, my whole team has personal missions that they need to complete. I'm aware that it will end, and then I'll have to decide what to do next. I'll have to figure out what comes of Archangel when Omega doesn't need an Archangel anymore. But I also assume that I have a while. We're making progress, sure, but we aren't working miracles. 

Unfortunately - somehow more unfortunate than the extremely unfortunate sex - Liara isn’t seeing things the same way. I didn’t regret the sex during when it was awkward and after when it was sad, but now I regret it. Now, when Liara is clinging. 

“I could stay,” she offers, not looking at me. She looks up when I don’t answer; I don’t answer because I don’t know how to react to that. “Or I could at least come back. Visit sometimes.” 

“No one is supposed to know I’m here, Liara.” 

Her gaze hardens just a little. “Being an information dealer means that not only am I skilled at finding secrets but at keeping them.” 

“Liara…” I shake my head, unsure of what to say. Usually, when I want to break things off with a fling, I can be cold. Removed. But this isn’t a normal fling. I don’t have feelings for Liara, but she is a friend. She was Shepard’s friend. I don’t want to hurt her. 

It’s a risk I have to take, though. 

“You have to go. And you have to stay gone.” I keep my voice firm but not hard. I have a point to make but not a heart to break. 

“But, I - “ She reaches for me, and when I take a step back to prevent the touch, Liara falls quiet, and her hand drops back to her side. 

“There’s nothing here for you, Liara. Go back to Ilium. Go back to your life.” Judging by the look on her face, I both made my point and broke a heart. It tugs at something inside me and the guilt burns like acid. “I’m...I’m sorry, Liara. But it’s better this way.” 

She hugs herself, glancing around like she thinks anyone on this station cares about anyone else. “I just...it’s nice to have someone who can give you some comfort.” She looks up at me and asks, “Isn’t it?”

“I can’t give you that. I don’t have anything to give. It all…” I take a breath, trying to decide how much I want to divulge. How much I can handle saying. “It was all for her. It’s all gone now.” 

I don’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to stare at the shuttle she needs to be on instead. Liara watches me, silent and pensive or pissed or...I can’t tell. I don’t know if it matters. I’m never going to see her again after this. 

“Will you be safe, Archangel?” she asks finally, her voice still sad but resolved. Safe enough for me to look back at her. 

“I can’t promise that. I have a station to uproot.” She smiles when I do, and I think it’s genuine. “You be safe, Professor.” 

She laughs at that. “I will.” 

I don’t move to hug her. I had originally wanted to, thinking it a good way to say goodbye, but now I’m worried it’ll send mixed messages. Liara thought last night meant more - or would mean more - than it did. I didn’t want more, but I did want a good parting from a good friend. Now... At least she’s leaving. 

And just like that, she’s gone. That was probably the last bit of Garrus Vakarian. All I am now is - 

"Archie!" 

"How is it that you people keep startling me?" I ask, turning away from the docks to face Dhelem, who is practically running toward me. 

"We got that bastard," he pants. He has to reach out and hold a railing to keep from collapsing. 

"How fucking far did you run?" 

Dhelem laughs but shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. We got Garm. We're gonna take down the Blood Pack." 

Looks like I might be faced with next steps sooner than I expected. 

*****

Garm, Blood Pack’s leader, is one of the meanest, nastiest people I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Or at least knowing of. He’s a massive Krogan, bigger than Wrex and several centuries younger. He’s a bully, using his crew and their reputation to keep businesses under his thumb. And worst of all, he’s sadistic; there are too many rumors about Garm letting his pet varren have its way with people that Garm doesn’t like for me to believe that they’re just rumors. 

The rest of the Blood Pack operates under Garm's attitude and his morality. They're Vorcha and Krogan bent on destroying Omega and as much of the rest of the galaxy as they can through weapons deals and mercenary violence. Sick, violent, cruel. I find all of the gangs here and everything they do reprehensible, but Garm is especially disgusting. I want him dead.

Almost as much as Garm wants me dead. 

I killed Jareth's brother, and Garm still hates me more than that guy. He started an extremely loud shadow campaign threatening Omega's citizens and shop owners if they so much as look at Archangel or one of my crew, nonetheless help us. Laying out a few of Garm's biggest fists convinced the people here that they needed to fear me a lot more than him. Garm took to blunt violence after that. 

And that's how he trips up. 

For all his bluster and bullshit, Garm is extremely secluded. He's almost never in public, and he does an excellent job of keeping his hideouts private; almost as good as we do. But he doesn't have my team. My team finds him, and it takes next to nothing to draw that angry bastard out. 

That's how I end up fighting Garm, one on one, hand-to-hand in an alley. I did have back-up initially; Butler and Dhelem were here. And then one of Garm's guys shot Butler before I could put him down. I ordered Dhelem to take him to Dr. Mordin Solas. They both protested, of course, but Butler and his wife Nalah are having a baby, and I'm not about to have that baby grow up without a dad. 

Fortunately, the guy I shot was Garm's only back-up, too. Less fortunately, Garm isn't stupid and doesn't bother getting into a shooting match with me. So we end up fighting the old fashioned way. And as a good a fighter as Wrex was, he didn't have nearly as much to lose as Garm does. His honor alone is enough for Garm to fight like for his life, and that means I'm fighting for mine. Garm cannot win because he won't let me die quickly. 

"Take that helmet off and let me see your face, you barefaced bastard," he snaps at me, spitting blood with every word from several solid hits to his mouth. Of course, he keeps regenerating. I can feel the helmet he's talking about getting tighter because of swelling on my face underneath it. 

I enjoy that he thinks I'm barefaced, though. It reassures me that these assholes, the gang leaders here, have no idea who I really am. And keeping them from knowing that is truly the fight for my life. Archangel is as much shield as identity. 

"Wanna look me in my eyes while I dismantle everything you've built, Garm?" I taunt him, deftly dodging a hammer-like fist coming at my ribs. He's gotten enough hits down there. He threw too much into the punch and I use his momentum to get a shot in on the back of his knee. Garm stumbles and growls but doesn't fall; tough asshole. 

"You know my people are coming, right?" he snarls at me. "And then I'm going to dismantle you." 

I scoff at him. "You need back up? Come on. Can't take on one little Turian all by yourself?" A low, feral growl from the end of the alley answers that question for me. The Blood Pack has arrived and all of a sudden, I have no chance in this fight. This won't even be a fight; I'll get massacred trying to take on four Krogan, their rabid varren, and a vorcha with a flamethrower. I look back at Garm and shake my head. "I'm disappointed in you." 

"I'm going to be feasting on your meat by dinner time," Garm growls at me, wiping his mouth with a huge paw. 

"Wow. Hey, I didn't know you were into me like that. Usually, the people who want my meat buy me a drink first, but, uh, you're a pretty special case." I use his surprise to my advantage and take a cheap shot - almost as cheap as calling back-up - and kick him in the quad as hard as I can. So hard it actually hurts my foot. Krogan don't have the Turian advantage of plating, so he goes down hard, almost screaming, and it's exactly the distraction I need. A well-placed smoke grenade, and then I'm out. 

I get on my comms after taking a few weird twists and turns to make sure I'm not being followed. And I still don't take my helmet off. Dressed like this, full armor with the emblem that Kana created for Archangel, most people have the sense to give me a wide berth. "Dhelem. How's Butler?" 

"Hey! You made it. Is Garm dead?"

"Nah, the bastard got back-up, and I had to bail. Is Butler dead, or are you trying to keep that a surprise for me?"

"Not dead," Butler says instead. 

"Thanks to you having the sense to send him away," a woman chimes in. I've never spoken to Nalah on my comms before, but it's a safe bet that this is her. "You're my hero again, Arch." 

I laugh at that and slip into a service tunnel, making sure the camera spots me so that Akart knows it's me coming and doesn't blow me up. "I'm not letting him get out of diaper duty that easy, Nals. Just get him back on my feet for me as soon as you can. Garm is going to be even angrier now." 

"Oh, yeah? Does that mean you were winning?"

"Do you actually have to ask?" I can hear them laughing now that I've stepped through the hidden door of our apartment building, using a DNA scanner to get in; that was Akart's doing. I find them upstairs, on the balcony that overlooks part of the market district of Omega, each of them with a drink in their hand - water in Nalah's case. 

I pull my helmet off and toss it aside before joining them, taking the whiskey from Dhelem and throwing it back. He takes one look at me and lets loose a loud, long whistle. "Damn, that Krogan did some dancing on your face, huh?"

"You should see the other guy." I don't stop until I reach Nalah, who is already reaching up to me with a broad smile. I let her take hold of my forearms and then brace myself so that she can pull herself up; the woman is a tiny thing, so I don't have to do much, but she doesn't like being picked up. Once she's standing, I pull her in for a hug, finally relaxing a little. "How are you feeling?"

"Fat. Hungry. Your Godchild is beating up my liver and lungs," she grumbles even while smiling and rubbing her hands over her bulging belly. They had to explain that whole Godfather thing to me a couple months ago, and while I may not share their beliefs, I know enough to know its a huge honor. Shepard would be proud. 

"You look amazing." I bend just a little and bump my forehead against hers. I had to explain the sentiment behind that move, and I know she's honored by it now. Butler is beaming at me, too. He's also rocking a new sling on his arm. "And look at you." I smack him on the shoulder held in the sling, and he winces but isn't hurt enough to keep from kicking at me. 

"So, Blood Pack hates us even more now?" Sidonis asks, joining us on the balcony. "Nicely done." 

Caeria follows him out, and her subtones escalate into tragic concern when she spots me. The Turian dashes across the balcony before I stop her; I manage to catch Dhelem's eye and grimace, but he smirks and looks away. Caeria takes hold of my jaw and looks at the bruise I can feel forming on the side of my face. "Arch, you have to be careful!" 

"I am careful." I push her hands away, gentle but firm. I'm always gentle but firm with her. It doesn't deter her; no one has ever pursued me so relentlessly and so subtly. She's never made a move, but her subtones say it all. The fact that she's practically standing on my feet says a lot, too. Generally, my best option to keep her at a distance is Devon because he's always just about on top of me as well but knows we're not ever going to fuck. "Where's Devon?"

"Not here," Sidonis answers with a shrug. 

"He left this morning," Sertis replies, appearing in the doorway. "Few hours ago now." 

I frown at that. "Where did he go?" 

Caeria steps away from, evidently recognizing that she isn't going to get my attention right now. "We don't know. He's a big boy." 

I scowl at her but can't snap before Butler interjects, "He probably went to work." 

"He didn't plan to work today." I shake my head and pull up his Omni-Tool info, using the contact to call him. There's a nasty tasting acid rising in my throat and something unsettling sitting in my gut. Something is wrong. "He always tells me when he's going to work. Did you see him leave?" I ask Sertis. 

He nods but then immediately frowns. "I...he got a message on his 'Tool. And then he left. I didn't think much of it, man. Should I have?" 

"I don't know yet." 

Dhelem stands quickly. "Let's get on the cams and find him." That helps. It's not just a solution, but it's coming from the other member of the team who has been here longest. Who has been close to Devon for longer than the others. 

"Arch. We may not need the cameras." The ominous tone of Butler's voice makes me feel cold, and I whirl to face him but find him staring over the edge of the balcony. Below us is a busy pathway, a bridge from the residential to the market district of our area of Omega. That bridge isn't so busy right now, though. In fact,   
people are actively avoiding it. Because standing directly in the middle of that bridge are three Asari in Eclipse gear. 

And they have Devon. 

"Go get my rifle," I murmur softly to whoever might hear me. They'll find it near the door. I don't dare move, don't take my eyes off the Eclipse. Not while they have him. 

Devon is standing between two of the Asari, but he looks wobbly. He's bruised, but worse than that, he's extremely high. Too high. Higher than Devon gets himself intentionally. They beat him, they drugged him, and now they've got him on parade in front of me. 

"Archangel," one of them calls up to me. My rifle meets my hand and I shift to hold it without letting them see it. "You've taken a lot from the Eclipse Sisters, and they're getting pretty tired of it. But now we've taken something of yours. And now you have a choice." 

"Which one of you to put down first? I've already made my choice. Care to venture a guess?" Our voices carry through the space with disturbing ease. The two of them holding Devon glance at one another; obviously, they know enough about me to know that this is very stupid. "Devon, can you hear me?"

He mutters something that sounds like my name, and the Asari leading this show laughs, walking in slow circles around the others with her. "Oh, he can't answer you. We've given Devon the good stuff." 

"Remember the Batarians in the restaurant?" I mutter while the Asari monologues - because of course she monologues. I catch some drug jokes, some sex jokes. Sidonis slips up on my left and I hear a pistol cocking. "Distance?"

"I'll do it for Devon." 

Good enough for me. I trust him. 

"And we have a team heading for that pain in the ass doctor," the Asari is saying, "so you're not going to be able to fix precious little Devon here this time."   
It's been more than a year since Devon overdosed. And it's not like the doctor keeps records, or there is any sort of public record on this station. But they know about Devon overdosing and that I took him to Solas for care. 

"Sertis, take the C-Sec squad to the clinic. Get there now." I hear him moving away and Caertis does the same, joining him with the crew of Turian who used to work for C-Sec and are now on my squad. They'll get to the clinic and defend Mordin Solas...if he needs it. Part of me thinks they're going to get there and find dead Eclipse, but I have to be sure. 

And I have to focus on Devon right now. They have Devon. 

He wavers, his head hitting one of the Asari's shoulders before they jerk him back roughly. He can barely stand on his own. I can see from here that he's drooling. That is my best friend, and these bastards have him totally unable to protect himself. He's there because of me. This is my fault. 

"What do you want?" I can't give it to them, whatever it is, but maybe I can get their guard down. 

"Simple. We want you to back the fuck off," the Asari spits. "The Sisters don't give a shit what you do about the Pack or the Suns. Not our problem. But it's time for you to get off our back. You've caused more than enough trouble." 

"Sad you can't handle me?" 

The Asari forces a laugh and pulls out a pistol, turning and pressing the barrel to Devon's head. My heart plummets into my boots and my next breath is almost too hard to take in. Devon can't even jerk away from the gun. 

"My command." 

"Always," Sidonis whispers the confirmation.

"I want your word that you will back off," the Asari demands. "We have an operation tonight, which you are, of course, aware of." She's right; I have a crew prepared to disrupt it. "If that op goes off without a hitch and without any of your bullshit intervention, we will release this junkie whore back to you." 

"Ready," I mutter, barely moving my mouth. I don't have to for another Turian. I'm trusting Sidonis to help me save Devon, but Devon's life is on me. And since at this point the Asari are holding him up, I'm running out of time. 

"You have three seconds, Archangel." 

"Set." 

"Two seconds." 

"Hit." 

I don't have to aim my rifle. I know my weapon better than any part of my own body. When it comes into my hand, it's natural. And not having to aim means that I don't have to wait, don't have to hesitate, don't have to prepare. 

The cool metal of the barrel hits my hand, and I pull the trigger twice, another pop immediately echoing them. All three Asari hit the ground, two dead with bullets in their heads and the third hit in the chest and no longer a threat. 

And Devon hits the ground with them. 

I drop my rifle and spin, running to the stairs that lead most directly down to the marketplace and barreling through the doors. I get to Devon in seconds, but I have no idea how late I am. 

Too late. 

I took out all three Asari, and I lost Devon. He dies in my arms, Dhelem's hand on Devon's heart, and our crew surrounding us. The rest of Omega doesn't notice, but we'll never forget him. My best friend and my crew's first fatality. We've lost Devon. 

He dies, and I lose the only other person I've been able to love. 

Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying that next week is the last chapter in this part of the story, but next week is the last chapter in this part of the story. I'll be posting the epilogue here and the new part...the Mass Effect 2 part! A reunion is comingggggggg. 
> 
> As always, I'm so so so grateful you're reading and would love your comments.


	10. Epilogue

I have failed.   
It doesn't matter what we've accomplished on Omega. It doesn't matter that we've crippled the Blue Suns slavery operations, virtually put an end to the red sands operations by the Eclipse, and bankrupted the Blood Pack weapons movements. It doesn't matter that Archangel and his crew has been successful in our mission, in our work against the gang operations here. 

None of it matters because I failed where it counts. 

Not only did I fail to protect my team, to keep them safe. But instead of just costing any member of my team their life, it was Devon. I failed, and I lost Devon. 

He was my first friend when I ran from everyone else in my life. He was my only friend on Omega when I was far too miserable to deserve friendship from anyone. He believed in me. Devon didn't just give Archangel value the way the rest of my team has, but Devon created life for Garrus Vakarian when he was all but dead. Hollow. And now...

He's gone. 

Devon is gone, and it's because I failed to protect him. I went out to wrestle with some shitbag Krogan selling weapons and left Devon unprotected, yes, but if I weren't Archangel - if I hadn't started this war and drawn so much attention to all of us - Devon would still be alive. I stare at the empty end of my bed after coming out of a shower and know that he should be there. Devon is always here when I get out of the shower, always ready to tease me or give me someone to complain to or...

He'll never be there again. Because of me. Because I failed him. 

I have two choices now. There are two paths ahead of me, and I have this moment to choose one. My crew is waiting for me to choose. And I know which one they want. 

The first choice, the more obvious one, and the one that feels more like Archangel, is revenge. I can hit that op tonight, the one that the Eclipse sisters were trying to stop me from hitting at all, even harder. I can make them pay in a big way. And not just them. I can continue to hit harder, faster, more violently. I can avenge Devon with blood. 

I can make a point that no one should fuck with Archangel and his crew. 

The other choice is calling to me when I stare at the empty spot at the end of my bed. It tugs at that hollow spot in my chest that's started to feel like part of me. I can't even take Devon's tags and hang onto them. He's just...gone. I didn't think the pain could get worse, and now I've lost someone else. And now it's even harder to breathe. 

I can end that pain. The revolver, the one that should have been Shepard's Christmas present and the one that Devon knew about - the only person who knew about it, is still in my beside table. That revolver will end the pain. It's been my escape plan, my ticket out, this whole time. But it's at least been a few months since I wanted to put it in my mouth so badly. 

It's been even more months since I could actually taste the damn thing on my tongue. 

The last time my team pulled me out of this, I didn't think I would ever be back here. I fooled myself into thinking that by distancing myself from the people I loved, I wouldn't risk this lose again. Like an asshole, I came to love the members of my team and failed to protect them all. 

And now if I have to decide if Archangel keeps going, or if Garrus...does not. 

I wish I could ask for Shepard's advice. I wish I could tell her that my shattered heart is starting to break all over again and that I don't even know how that's possible, but here I am with a knife in my fucking chest and Devon dead. I wish I could tell her that because this is Omega, his body will be airlocked. There is no honorable burial on this station. And the fact that he's going out the way that she died makes me feel even worse. I wish I could tell her even though I know what Shepard's response would be. 

She'd tell me to get over myself. She'd tell me to quit fucking whining and get back in the battle. She would never tolerate me threatening to off myself because I'm mourning her nearly two years after she dumped my sorry ass. Shepard would set me on the path that she knew was right because Shepard always did the right thing.   
The work that I've done as Archangel would make her proud. She would never seek vengeance against Batarian mercs and pirates for what happened to her and her family, but Shepard would appreciate the strides we've taken toward ending their slave operations. She would see the obvious value in keeping weapons and drugs off other planets and out of the hands of innocent people on Omega. Shepard would have adored Devon. 

Archangel was all about making Shepard proud. Following that very first Blue Suns merc, the one trying to sell Melody, was because of a fire that the human I loved stoked in me. Now, I can either extinguish that fire...or I can let it rage. 

For a year when she was my Commander, my best friend, and occasionally the woman I was lucky enough to worship sexually, I never let Shepard down. I was far from perfect, and I'm sure she wanted to smack me once or twice, but I never disappointed her. I made sure of that; she could rely on me, and she knew it. 

For the last couple of years since she's been dead, I've done my best not to let Shepard down. I'm not positive I've been successful. I had a gun in my mouth, I've fucked dozens of strangers recklessly, and I made a huge mistake with Liara. And I've told myself repeatedly that she deserves it, in a way, because she's not here.   
But Archangel existed to make Shepard proud. Hell, even the name was Shepard's doing without her ever knowing. And now she's not the only person who isn't here and yet still holding some moral power over me. Devon admired me. Devon wanted to be proud of me. 

Archangel has a responsibility to Devon and to Shepard and to the rest of this team. Hell, they aren't going to quit if I go out with a bang. They'll continue to fight, only they'll do it without me. I would have to abandon them. And that would disappoint Shepard more than anything else I could ever do. 

That settles it. For Shepard, for Devon, for my team... Archangel isn't going anywhere. 

I dress in my armor and wipe down my weapon, taking care to remove any traces of the last two shots I took. The shots that didn't save Devon. I put on Shepard's dog tags and don't bother to tuck them inside this time. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to be Archangel. 

My Omni-Tool dings with a message, giving me pause on the way out of my room. Sidonis. And he has a lead for me. 

"Stay here, together," I tell the crew on my way out. I don't want them out right now, and I want them here to support one another. "Sidonis has something for me, but I'll be back before the op tonight. Don't go out until I am. Got it?"

"Butler went to take Nalah home," Dhelem tells me, calling across the room. "I'll get him back here asap. You OK?"

I look back at the door and nod. He's been around long enough to worry more than the others, so I owe him this. "I'm OK. We're gonna get them back for this." 

"Damn right," Sertis cheers. 

The door opens, but I don't take another step, watching my crew for a moment longer. Shepard didn't do big moments, and I'm realizing now that I'm not cut out for them either. It's for the best with these guys; the thought makes me smile. 

"You make me proud. I'm gonna do the same for you." 

I don't give them a chance to respond before leaving. I'm going to meet Sidonis, bring him back here, and then Archangel and his crew will continue to kick ass. 

We aren't done yet. I'm not done. I can't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this entire work was painful and cathartic in ways I can't really put words to. It was difficult to share but your comments and kudos make it an amazing experience. Thank you so much, I'm thrilled that you're still enjoying the story. 
> 
> I've posted a new work - Just Give Me a Reason - that will continue Garrus & Elle's story into the Mass Effect 2 timeline!


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